


The First Captain, the Iron Knight, and the Winter Sorcerer

by Haunted_Frost



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dragon Tony Stark, Dragons, Identity Reveal, Knight Steve Rogers, M/M, Magic, Nobility Tony Stark, Polyamory, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Sorcerer Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Frost/pseuds/Haunted_Frost
Summary: In the kingdom of Scyld, conspiracy has gripped the court.  The Marquis Anthony Stark is nowhere to be found.  Ancient legends of the First Captain are rising again, and rumors of a heroic red knight devoted to Stark and a deadly sorcerer wandering the land could only mean more trouble.  The queen is hosting a summit between the three neighboring kingdoms—Scyld, Asgard, and Wakanda—and the time for heroes has returned.





	1. Waking Up in the Kingdom of Scyld

**Author's Note:**

> My first time participating in a big bang, and I had a ton of fun with this absolutely self-indulging thing. Please, Please check out ChaosDraws' art; it's absolutely gorgeous and exactly what I had in mind for the Iron Knight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Fairy Tale: The First Captain  
> Once upon a time, there was an evil king who hated the people he ruled. He craved power, slaying dragons left and right.  
> It worked, but he went even madder than before. The tyrant king waged wars that his people couldn’t support, but would be killed if they didn’t follow.  
> A young man from a small village was contracted to fight. His friend, fearing for him, went to a mage for help. The hermit tested his compassion, and granted the man the strength and speed of ten men and a shield forged by a dragon. The hermit also granted him a vessel of his magic to give to his friend.  
> The friends reunited, fighting monsters of the land and the tyrant’s forces. The man with the shield earned the name “Captain” for his bravery and leadership as they collected friends. Enraged by these new heroes, the tyrant sent a demon to kill them. The monster killed the Captain’s friend, carrying him away into the mountains.  
> Emboldened by his friend's death, the Captain stormed the palace himself, facing the king, Red Skull—a horrible amalgamation of dragon and human. People later found the tyrant slain.

When the Marquis and Marchioness Stark died, Tony came to the funeral feverish and hungover.  People quietly blamed it on the cold, on the grief.  The truth was, though, that Tony always ran a little warmer than the average man, and that his two states since he’d heard the news were varying levels of drunk and drunker. 

No one would see his mother dance at court again.  His father would never smirk pompously at merchants he’d verbally beaten again, never conspiratorially turn to Tony afterwards and say _Stark men are made of iron, Anthony_.  And Sir Jarvis—

Well, the less said about Sir Jarvis, the better. 

He wasn’t alone because of their choices; he was alone because they were gone.  And the fact that he _couldn’t_ feel the difference pulled his fingers to the next glass.  It was the only way he didn’t have to feel. 

Tony let Obadiah Stane, practically his uncle and the Earl of Flores, take over the matters of trade and the estate.  Tony buried himself in the forges and his favorite wines.  He’d already been diving deeper into the heat, less careful with the flames than most people ought to be.  But Tony had always been quite enamored with the hot glow of armor about to be shaped, and his hands were already scarred and burned in ways that a Marquis’ son should not have. 

That’s why Rhodes was more his friend than the other nobility—sure, he had a pleasant relationship with Mistress Rushman (mostly consisting of mocking the petty goings of Lady Vale or Lord and Lady Richards) and with visiting royalty like Prince Loki or Prince T’Challa.  Tony was charming in small doses for most people, which was partially why he was always in awe of Rhodes, Lady Potts, and even Stane—who’d always been a touch kinder than his father.  They all stayed with him, despite everything. 

Lady Potts, his dearest Pepper, managed her own estate with all the precision he gave his metalworks.  She had a sharp eye and did not spare tears for flowery, overworked speeches.  His childhood had been spent professing his love for her.  His gifts had always been politely received, but his advances, well . . . they’d quickly learned that they were better friends than anything else. 

How Rhodey ever became his friend was beyond most of the nobles.  Truthfully, they’d been partnered by necessity at first.  Rhodes was the guardsman assigned to the Starks shortly after Tony came of age, but they’d gone to school together, so the line between guard and Marquis-to-be had always been blurred. 

Stane. . .  he’d always shake his head at Howard.  _Shame, that, letting your talent go to waste because of a title._ For years after his parents’ deaths, Obadiah whispered suggestions in his ear.  Said things like _protection from magic_ and _a blade that can cut through bone like nothing_ and _a hammer that could crush a dragon’s head._  

Tony made them all. 

“You know,” Rhodes muttered, “I really don’t like that I can’t come with you.  The weapons demonstrations always make me think we’re about to start an uprising.”

“It’s all in the name of defense, my friend,” he laughed.  “It’ll be all right.  Obadiah will be there.” 

He’d been demonstrating a new, more accurate crossbow to some of Stane’s men when he barely registered the hit to his head, a bright flash of pain, then everything going dark. 

* * *

 

In the village of Gravesend, a memorial statue had yet to crumble.  Long ago, two heroes had supposedly come from the village—the legendary Captain and who had slain the dragon tyrant, and the captain’s dear sorcerer companion. 

The Captain had fought Red Skull himself and won—but no trace of the Captain was ever found on that snowy peak.  Dragons went into hiding as other warriors tried to make their name by slaying them, even though most were no more or less evil than the average man. 

Red Skull’s name had been lost to the years, but he had been the king of the land, waging war and spreading his malice and destruction as he pleased.  His loyalists surrendered to Scyld or died fighting.  They had the Sorcerer in the Skull’s old keep. 

Hydra Lords kept their titles if they ratted out others, and the Sorcerer was trained in secret to kill.  Potion after potion, curse after curse.  The Sorcerer forgot his name, forgot everything but the next quest he was sent on.  Kill this lord, find this artifact, kill that Marquis, kill that dragon.  The relics and the spells that held him under their control were so layered that it was nigh impossible to destroy them all. 

He did.  The world turned, changed, forgot. 

Even so the memorial in Gravesend stood—

Even so the Sorcerer, in Gravesend, stood.

A young woman squinted at the visage of the Captain’s dear friend and nudged her companion. 

“What, Natalia?”

“Isn’t that your face?”

The man, who was wearing a dark cloak, glared up at the statue, frowning.  He looked at the Captain. 

“I knew him.”

* * *

 

The Red Skull had roared one last dying breath, and then a sudden rush of ice came over him.  A protection spell from the fire?  But who—

Darkness. 

He was so _cold_ when he woke up.  Steve was feeling icy needles everywhere and—

_the spell_

Erksine had warned him that magic dealt in exchanges—not always equal prices.  That there was a measure of balance in the world, one way or another—for all the heat and muscle and protection he’d gotten, he’d lose something else. 

What had the words been again?

_“Eorþfæt onlic hordcofa. Ofhende innan ċyrr.”_

If any of that remotely made sense—Buck had been the one with magic, not Steve.  He groaned, trying to remember the last things that had—

_“What was the spell that he used on me?”_

_“I’m not sure about it exactly, but it looks like he traded time for strength.  Not taking away literal years of your life, that’s more of a curse, but taking you out of your own time.  It’s strong stuff.  The kind of thing I’d have to study for decades to do myself, even with all this power.”_

Bucky. 

Bucky who only weeks ago—it could be centuries now, oh _gods_ —had been wryly reminding him that he only followed the Captain because he remembered the scrawny kid he’d always stood beside. 

That meant that he’d long lost Peg, too, and all the rest of the Howlers.  Howard might still live, if dragons really did survive as long as they were rumored to.  That was only a maybe—

He sat against a tree, hugging his knees, trying to feel warm again for just a few hours. 

* * *

 

But he knew it could not be so forever.  It was time for him to get his bearings.  He wandered, hunting as necessary, until he got to a village that had an open market.  The armor and weapons at the smithy looked strange, but overall it seemed rather similar to what he thought things should be. 

“Ma’am,” he asked at the next village market he ran into, “I’m afraid I’ve injured my head—I don’t know where or when it is.  Where am I?  What year is it?” The older woman looked at him with disapproval. 

“Young man, you need to take better care of yourself.  Come in, my nephew is just starting to make lunch.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he raised his hands, shaking his head, but she rolled her eyes and tugged him along.  He felt like a cowed child.  He’d only meant to pass through the village or to find work. 

“A big man like you with such fancy armor would get robbed on sight,” she said.  “Peter, we have a guest!”

“Yes, May,” called a young man’s voice. 

Well, at least one thing hadn’t changed—motherly figures still cowed young men like him and Peter. 

* * *

 

“Good morning, Lord Stark,” said a voice.  Tony’s eyes popped open and he sat up sharply. 

He growled—a painful jolt raced down his spine. 

“Easy now.  We wouldn’t want you to be . . . unable to work,” they said.  He looked around to find—a small group of men in dark cloaks. 

“Whatever the hell you think you will get me to do, I’m afraid it’s off the table,” he said in return. 

“But, Marquis Stark,” the head of the group smirked viciously, “You already have.  You’ve built us so many weapons, sir, that we had to have more—right from the source.  Truly, war is your craft.”

* * *

Yinsen—who by all rights should have hated Tony and wanted him to suffer even more—helped him survive.  It was hours of clammy wetness—because apparently, these bandits found water-based torture to be the best kind, and kept nearly drowning him. 

Not to mention the horrible crystal embedded in his chest, making everything ache. 

He built it slowly—something he’d be able to falsify.  Not what they wanted at all, but they couldn’t possibly know that. 

The warding around the mouth of the cave only let the bandits pass back and forth to guard them.  Tony would have to build something impervious to magic to let him through. 

The heat source in his heart was some sort of magic that Yinsen wouldn’t speak of.  Or rather, he was loudly silent about it.  He’d glared at the light blue glow, glancing sadly at Tony himself. 

* * *

“Where the hell is he?” growled Rhodes.  Pepper shook her head. 

“I’m as lost as you are.  But he _can’t_ be dead—he’s Tony.”  Rhodes grimaced.

“I’d like to think that too, my lady.”

* * *

“Is Wade coming over today?” May asked the young man that Steve guessed was her nephew.  They looked like mother and son, but the boy called her May instead. 

“You ask that again, but my answer is always the same,” the boy said wryly, “I don’t know.”

Steve sipped the broth May had provided after informing him that it was, in fact, over a hundred years since he was last awake.  This was going to be problematic.  _Don’t think about the people_ , he urged himself.  All his friends would be long gone by now.  All the people that mattered—well.  He’d just have to make do with this new world he’s been dealt with. 

At least the chill had abated from his bones. 

“So, Steve,” Peter asked, “What are you going to do now?”

“I was a knight errant before, I think,” he said.  “Maybe that again.  Or maybe I should find a court to serve at.”

“Well, with the Marquis Stark having disappeared, the queen has called the court together to discuss rescue options and what might have happened.  There’s suspicion of a coup happening,” Peter whispered loudly.  Steve grinned at the boy’s enthusiasm. 

“And how would you know that?”

“I’m Stark’s personal servant when he’s at court,” the boy said sheepishly, “but an assistant to the town chronicle master otherwise.  He only ever needs me every other week, though, so I can help at home in the meantime.  Would you like to travel with me to court in three days?  Maybe we can find out what happened to you, too.” 

Maybe he could find out what happened to everyone else.  Maybe there was still a Carter duchy around.  Maybe this missing Stark was related to Howard.  Maybe descendants of Bucky’s siblings still lived.  Maybe—

Steve nodded at Peter with a small smile. 

“That might be just what I need to do.”

* * *

Natalia left him alone once they’d burned the last relic—apparently, she had friends in the Capital to return to. 

But he wasn’t just planning on burning the relics.  Natalia had something to live for, a home to go to.  He hadn’t burned that out of her and neither had her other tutors. 

He was nothing but a frozen husk, most days—the arm a chilling reminder of the people he’d destroyed.  He’d never be able to clear the blood from his name, if he had one.  Sorcerer, they’d called him—or the Sorcerer, sometimes.  Never a name; he often wondered if he was built from the ground, a golem of metals and borrowed flesh.  A shade, perhaps. 

Old aches sometimes said otherwise— _that statue, I knew him—_ but what kind of a person could he have been? 

It was easier not to think, easier to be a thing.  But, as his nightmares proved, he definitely was at least an animal, if not a person.  Animals had to eat, had fears, base worries . . .

It didn’t satisfy him to burn the relics.  There was relief—that he would never submit to an order at the call of a spell ever again.  Still, though. 

He was so damned cold, he might as well have been cursed again. 

Shouts echoed from what was likely a large encampment.  Perhaps he could steal supplies and warm up by their fires.  He put a silencing spell on himself and snuck towards the shouts.  There was, indeed, a clearing with a camp in front of

“Leave him alone!” someone snarled. “I need him.  You want to get anything from me, you don’t touch him.  He has steady hands—I unfortunately don’t, what with the shaking from the repeated drownings and this infernal thing you’ve put in my chest.”

A pause in the commotion.  Angry grumbles. 

“You have one day.”

He snuck into the cave, ignoring the fire wards entirely—he’d always been able to navigate wards with ease.  A sorcerer of his power would be useless if he couldn’t. 

There was an old man hurriedly outfitting someone with a shining red suit of armor at the door.  The knight had a dragon’s heart glowing blue from the center of his chest, visible even under the maille shirt.  The helmet was already on, so the man’s face was covered. 

“What in hell?” the Sorcerer frowned.  The elderly man scrambled back, but the knight just looked resigned. 

“Who are you?” the knight asked, voice crackling.  Dehydrated, definitely. 

“I’m not looking for trouble,” he said warily, hands up and ready to fire a spell if he had to.  “I just wandered in here.”  The two companions looked at each other. 

“We’ve had armed guards watching us for days,” the old man said, “How could you ‘just wander’ through?  There are _fire wards._ You should be ash!”  Ah.  Someone as paranoid as him.  He’d always been good at sneaking past things.  _Come on, Stevie, I’ll grab a bag of apples for you from Belson; his wards are shit anyway._ That . . . was different.  A memory?  A story he’d told, one day? 

The two were staring at him, waiting for an answer.  Damn. 

“They were sleeping on the job after that mess earlier.  Any chance you want an armed escort out of here?” he shifted his left arm, flashing the metal.  He might as well make himself useful to _someone_ while he got his mind in place. 

“You just said that you weren’t looking for trouble,” the red knight accused. 

“If memory serves,” he grumbled, “which it doesn’t, usually, so this is an occasion—I’m used to following after people who _do_ look for it.”  Even as he said it, he felt it must be true. 

“As much as I’d like to stand around and talk, I was already planning our daring escape,” the knight said.  “And it was hardly going to involve an admittedly handsome stranger offering help.  For all I know you’re one of them,” he said.

“The Ten Rings?” the Sorcerer motioned towards the cave entrance.  “I saw their banners outside.  They’re mercenaries—I’ve worked under the same employers as them at times.  They’re _nothing_ compared to my skill.  I could get through their wards.  My talents could be of use to you, darling,” he quipped back immediately.  _Apparently, I’m a flirt._

The knight paused and took off his helmet to address the old man—the Sorcerer had a flash of golden skin and dark scruff flit through his vision.  _Apparently, I have good taste, too._

“Yinsen,” he asked, “Do you know how he could have gotten through?”

“I have no idea,” the man replied.  The knight frowned and turned back to the Sorcerer. 

“How did you?”  The Sorcerer frowned. 

“I’m the Winter Sorcerer, sir.  I’m capable of far more than the usual mage.”

He stumbled back with a crash, eyes wild, which was undignified but probably totally necessary, given the new information.  Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was a disgruntled cat, with the way the knight’s eyes flashed in the firelight. 

Adorable, but still possessing claws.  _Probably shouldn’t voice that one._

“That’s not exactly reassuring.” 

“I’m aware.  But I’d rather deal with fear than with keeping secrets from someone who looks like they could use my help. Besides, I would never want to hurt that pretty face of yours.”  The knight blushed.  He didn’t seem to want help, so the Sorcerer would have to leave him to his own devices. 

Perhaps not, though—he glanced at the dragon’s heart glowing blue from his chest. 

“You could use that to power protection wards indefinitely,” he suggested.  “It wouldn’t hurt you at all.  That magic?  Powerful, ancient, and definitely more than normal humans can manage.  It’s a matter of feeling the source of that energy and accessing it.  If you use the magic of that heart in your chest, you can blast the bastards that captured you to ashes.  But don’t take my word for it—this man seems plenty knowledgeable about that destructive power, given the terrified looks he’s giving that heart.”

Yinsen was looking at the knight’s dragon heart like it would suddenly leap out of his chest and strangle them all. 

“Yinsen?” the knight looked imploringly at the old man. 

“My village was razed to the ground by a dragon shifter,” he said stiffly.  “But you’re not exactly that dangerous to me, Stark.  You weren’t born with a dragon’s heart—it’s the Ten Rings’ favorite method of killing, poisoning a prisoner slowly.  But yes, if you’re compatible, you could use its power.”  Huh.  Stark sent odd echoes in the Sorcerer’s chest.  Two kinds—one a lot like the ones he got when he remembered a kill he regretted, and one an awful lot like the one about stealing apples. 

“Well, thank you,” Stark said to the sorcerer.  “Having a bit of that knowledge will definitely help me escape quicker.  Tell me, what’s your name?  And would you like to take the title of my best friend?”  The sorcerer chuckled. 

“I don’t know my name.  Let’s just say I’ve been cursed for a long time.”  The knight frowned. 

“Well, I guess I’ll have to call you James, because he’s already my best friend and I hardly want to be a liar in calling you mine, too.”  James?  Well, that sounded right enough. 

“That’ll do well, Stark,” the Sorcerer— _James—_ said. 

“Thank you, James.”  The knight’s eyes shined in the firelight of the cave. 

“You’re welcome.  Any food or hunting supplies in here?  That’s what I came for.”  Stark grinned. 

“Take all you need, my friend.  Not like I want to leave these bastards with anything useful if they survive me.” 

James mirrored his wicked smile and looted the supplies.  Right before he left, Stark, who was again outfitted in the armor—now completely so, the dragon’s heart glowing blue-white from the center of the breastplate—stopped him. 

“Oh, and James?  If you’re in need of a place to stay to let that curse wear off, look for Prince T’Challa or Princess Shuri of Wakanda.  They owe me one, and I owe you, so I figure they can take you in for whatever you need.  Tell them Tony sent you and remembers the M’Baku-empty-threat-with-the-rhino incident.”  James frowned, brow furrowing. 

“M’Baku?”

“Trust me, just say Tony remembers M’Baku and the rhino, and they’ll help you out,” Stark—apparently Tony—said.  James’s mouth twisted into a smile. 

“Right.  Burn them down, Iron Knight,” he said.  Tony scoffed. 

“Iron.  Does this _look_ like iron to you?  This is adamantine and gold forged together, my friend.  _Iron,_ indeed,” he rolled his eyes. 

 “It sounds better than the Adamantine and Gold Knight, no?”

“ . . . Stark men are made of iron,” Tony replied begrudgingly, as if he were reciting it. 

“You look rather like you’re made flesh and bone to me, sir Stark.”  Before Tony could reply, he waved goodbye with his metal hand and rushed out, careful not to awaken the guards or trip any of their wards by accident. 

Well, at least he had a destination in hand, now.  He’d have to ask the prince and princess about the incident with this M’Baku fellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony: *gets kidnapped* honestly why do I bother it’s like a character trait at this point
> 
> Bucky: Huh, that statue looks familiar. *shrugs* That sounds irrelevant. 
> 
> Steve: *wakes up in the middle of nowhere* Okay side effects of being given super strength: worst hangover ever. Um. I don’t know what year it is?  
> May and Peter Parker, nodding at each other when Steve isn’t looking: You poor confused amnesiac baby. Come here have some soup. 
> 
> Bucky, upon seeing Tony: Hot damn. I’m definitely gay.  
> Tony, upon seeing Bucky: You are dangerous and I am currently a disaster but you are gorgeous hello  
> Bucky: *attempting to both be helpful and flirty* You’re either going to die or turn into a dragon.  
> Tony: Wut O_O  
> Bucky: Nailed it.


	2. Unexpected Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons  
> There are indeed less dragons in the world than there used to be. Once, they were considered elite—minor nobility simply by association. Dragons possess an ancient, innate magic—an energy that seems to be boundless at their very core. This, of course, is the dragon’s heart—a crystalline font of magic that is a part of them as much as their own eyes. Often, young dragons have trouble concealing this heart when they shift into human form. The hearts can indeed power curses and other magics indefinitely with almost no effect on the user.   
> This is why so many seek dragon hearts and hunt dragons down for the express purpose of taking them as trophies. Of course, attempts to fuse a dragon’s heart to a person for the sake of power have consequences: more often than not, it poisons them. If a person, however, has dragon blood in their veins—they may just be able to overcome the poison. Often this is the case for children of dragons that are half-human.   
> Other attempts have had far more dire drawbacks.

They began packing the next day, and Steve did all the heavy lifting necessary because he had to earn his keep somehow.  Peter was definitely an excited young fellow—someone who reminded Steve a lot of himself.  Apparently, he was rather loyal to Marquis Stark and thought of him like a father figure. 

“He’s incredibly smart, you see,” Peter babbled, “He managed to create exceptional blade designs for himself and for the Queen’s Guard. The Morningstars he’s made are weighted specifically for the different wielders.  Queen Carol herself has armor made by him.”  Steve raised his brows. 

“The Queen has armor?”

“Well, how else is she going to avoid getting stabbed when she bouts with the knights?  To be fair, he started with Lady Potts and Mistress Rushman, but—”

“I’m just surprised that the queen would do so.  I’ve fought alongside a lady knight before, but—well, she was the only one I ever knew.” And he tried to fight the grimace at thinking of Peg, long gone, but Peter seemed to be the sensitive sort. 

“Sorry.  The ladies of the court aren’t knights by name, but they can best most of the young lords in cutting language every day, so,” he shrugged.  Steve grinned—now _that_ sounded awfully familiar. 

“Oh _Peter_ ,” a voice rang out from the door, and Steve jumped.  The boy sighed. 

“That would be Wade.  I’ll just apologize now for his . . . everything.”  Steve raised his eyebrows. 

“Did you make a new friend without me?  I will fight for my place!” cried out the man at the door.  He wore all red leather padding—with bundles of throwing knives on his belt and two swords crossing his back.  Not a single shield, nothing that would _really_ protect him.  That was—mad, to have nothing to defend himself with. 

Steve tensed and frowned, but Peter seemed unfazed, so he let himself relax a touch. 

Still, Wade was definitely unnerving. 

The man had a completely covered face—Steve had a hard time finding any exposed skin at all—but his eyes shone pale blue like a cold sky.  He didn’t like how bright they were as they looked at him. 

“Well I certainly haven’t seen you before.  Petey, is this one real?”  Steve would have laughed if he didn’t still wonder if waking up in the woods hadn’t been a dream. 

“He’s real.  I’m going to take him to court so he can figure out if he wants to be a knight,” Peter explained.  Wade sighed dramatically. 

“But you’d never take _me_ to court!”

“You’d hate court,” Peter laughed.  Steve didn’t doubt that—the strange, wild man definitely seemed like he’d be out of place next to nobility. 

“You’re not entirely wrong.  Still, lots of shiny clothes.  And you’ll be there, my dear sp—” At that, Peter’s eyes widened.

“That’s enough!” he squeaked.  “Now, what do you want?”

“Just to let you know to be careful when you travel.  The Winter Sorcerer burned down another temple just last week.  Hear Widow helped him, but that’s never actually a reassurance.”

Peter waved the warning off. 

“It’s not like he’d be looking for an amnesiac knight errant and a random servant, Wade.  Winter only goes after relics, according to Barton’s correspondence with Mistress Rushman.”  Wade scoffed. 

“And you think Barton’s trustworthy?  What about the time—”

“We all deserve second chances, Wade,” Peter said flatly.  It seemed to cow the madman immediately.  Steve definitely felt like he was intruding on a private matter. 

“I’ll just—go,” he said, not sure at all where he was going to go _to._

“You do that, sunshine,” Wade snipped, flapping his hand in a shooing motion. 

“Sorry,” Peter mouthed at him as he left.  Steve just shook his head. 

* * *

Tony would not forgive the men responsible for Yinsen’s death. 

They’d killed the man in the crossfire as Tony plowed his way through the sorcerers and bandits—his dragon-heart powering the runes that made the armor next to impossible to damage.  He’d find who had called them to take him and burn them, too.  A strange rage—one that blazed bright in his vision—drove him as he felt the heart heat up at his chest.  He roared as he took down the last of the fighters, finally alone in the camp.  The light at his chest glowed molten-hot.  It was all he could see. 

His breath felt slower, billowing instead of gasping like he normally would after a bout. 

He’d—he’d decimated a crew of at least twenty men.  He counted—twenty-five, thirty.  He’d never exactly been a dangerous force before on his own. 

He thought about James—icy blue eyes under dark hair.  There was something dangerous about the man, but damn if he hadn’t also been captivating. 

He thought about James’s words—the power of what he suspected was a dragon’s heart.   _I’m definitely going to have to research dragons once I get home.  Perhaps Butterfingers and Dummy will be of assistance—I might be able to power them more indefinitely._ He’d loved making complicated little golems.  Now he might be able to let them be active constantly without restarting their spells. 

 _Actually, Peter might love this little research assignment.  He loves a good challenge._ There was only one question—

He glanced around the forest.  Where the hell was he?

* * *

Since being Tony Stark had led to him being kidnapped, he obviously couldn’t continue to be.  Did the bandits have a clan mark of any kind—

Ah.  Ten interlocking rings on one burnt banner. 

_Hm, how is Banner?  He would be enthralled to know he isn’t the only one working with strange powers going on a rampage._

Indeed, he was glad that his friend hadn’t been kidnapped—the reclusive healer would have felt immensely guilty to have caused such destruction like Tony had. 

He headed southwest, figuring it was as good a direction as any if he was consistent.  Eventually he would have to hit the coast, and could find a town from there.  _Honestly I’d give anything for a little civilization._ Over the next crest of a hill, he spotted it. 

A small village—the kind that hardly had any traffic at all, sustaining itself almost separately from the kingdom.  Nothing to brag about, for sure, but the sort of place knights loved to stop if they wanted to keep secrets.  _First things first—a tavern.  I can get drink and information—maybe a place to rest._

He found himself in a tiny tavern.  Just enough room for a hearth glowing bright, a few tables, and a door to a kitchen.  A kid was fiddling with something complicated on one table, and his mother—probably the owner—sighed in exasperation before looking up at him. 

“Rose Hill doesn’t normally welcome such extravagant strangers,” she said.

“Believe me, I gathered,” he said.  “What do you have to—” he tripped as a pang of pain tore through his chest.  He swallowed a gasp, throat flexing uncomfortably. 

_Ugh, I need a clear head, anyway._

“—eat?  I could use water, too.” She rattled off some options, and Tony asked for whatever roast she was making.  It definitely smelled good, wafting through the building.  He sat down at the table with the boy. 

“Harley, put that away,” she said, frowning, before hurrying into the kitchen. 

“No, you don’t have to.”  Tony glanced at the pile of pieces, interested. 

The boy was making a slingshot of sorts, though it appeared to be more of a crossbow. 

“What’s this?” Tony asked. 

“It works like a crossbow, but you could put rocks or potatoes or something in this part instead,” he explained.  “The neighbor boys are really making a mess of our gardens.  That’s how we live, and they think because my father left that it’s free game.  I don’t want to kill them, obviously, but I do want them to think again about taking what isn’t theirs.”  Tony raised his eyebrows. 

“That’s quite the set up.”

“It’s still in progress,” he said quietly, “I dunno.”

“Well, here, mind if I take a look?  I’m quite the smith and weapons-maker myself.”  The kid blinked. 

“Sure.”

* * *

Harley was funny, and quite the brilliant kid—Tony almost wondered if he and Peter were related, but it wasn’t exactly likely.  Harley’s family had probably never left this little town. 

“No, you nearly had it, actually.  This would be a good training tool for upcoming knights, you know?  The royal master archer would love it—”

“You know the royal archer?  Hawkeye himself?” the kid’s eyes widened.  “ . . . did you know _Marquis Stark_?” he whispered loudly. 

“In fact, yes,” Tony glanced around.  The mother was still in the kitchen.

“Do you know what happened to him?  No one can find him anywhere.”

“I saved him,” he said, and _oh this was going to bite him back later, but to see that kid’s face light up—_ “He was kidnapped by bandits who wanted his money and weapons.  I was already their prisoner.” He bit his tongue as the memories came—when the thickness of the air became water, when the dim light in the tavern became a cave.  His hand was shaking.  He took a shuddering breath. 

“Why’d they have you?”

“I _might_ have stopped them from robbing my village by dismantling their carts, so they couldn’t get anywhere after.” 

“And Stark?  What happened?”

“I helped him plan his escape, protected him from them as best I could.  He gifted me with this armor, and I swore I’d help him take revenge.  That I’d be his personal guard.  And then the encampment went up in flames, and we got separated in the fighting—and now I’m looking for him.”

Harley grinned. 

“That’s amazing, Sir—" Well, he might as well put the Winter Sorcerer’s idea to use. 

“Iron,” he said.  “Sir Iron.”

* * *

People outside were screaming.  Tony stood abruptly and ran outside to see what was happening. 

A Chitauri had found its way to the town, spewing fire wherever it went.  _The wards on my armor should hold,_ he thought even as he rushed towards the beast. 

The heat was indeed unbearable as he rushed in, swearing profusely. 

“I just wanted a goddamn drink,” he muttered. 

Villagers and travelers alike were cowering, trying to put out the flames that had spread.  A kid stumbled into the road in its path and—

“ _NO!_ ” Tony roared, reaching to stop the demon.  Blue light overtook his vision as heat crackled at his palms.  The beast turned toward him.  He snarled, even as he berated himself _you don’t have a sword, idiot_

Seconds later, he was heaving, and the beast was a charcoal skeleton on the ground. 

 _What just—_ he was burning, his chest was burning, the air in his lungs he _couldn’t breathe_ it was too heavy—make it _stop_

And it stopped. 

Was the kid okay?  He turned and of course it was Harley looking up at him, wide-eyed. 

“Sir Iron! You did it!”

There was cheering from all sides, even the clearly surly knights-for-hire. 

It was kind of nice, being cheered along for something he’d done. 

* * *

Knight regaled to knight, and wandering bards began to sing of Sir Iron, the knight without a sword.  Word spread fast, especially with such listeners as Prince Loki able to whisper in all kinds of ears. 

The Iron Knight, it seemed, was a formidable hero. 

* * *

Rhodes led the search party for weeks, but the men were all ready to head home.  They’d set up a final camp before their return, and everyone complained that combing the wilderness for a corpse would be useless.  _I will not declare my friend dead_ , he swore to himself, _until I find the body._

A plume of fire blasted upwards through the trees. 

_Well, that’s as likely Tony’s fault as anything, considering._

He’d come upon a scorched massacre of Chitauri beasts with a knight in strange red-and-gold armor in the center of it all, heaving low breaths. 

“Sir!” Rhodes called out.  “Are you well?  Have you seen the Marquis Stark anywhere?” 

The knight turned his head up. 

“I may have,” a low, metal-grinding voice replied.  “Some men held him captive, after all.  They were underpaid assassins, it seems, by what I last heard.”

“And who are you, Sir?  Were you a part of this?” Rhodes demanded. 

“I am the Iron Knight,” he answered, a wry smirk in his voice.  “You’ll be seeing a lot of me, no doubt.  Don’t worry, Stark is safe.”

Rhodes frowned at him until the knight flipped his helmet visor up, grinning madly. 

“Tony!” Rhodey rushed forward, laughing.  They embraced, and Tony felt as though his face would crack from how wide he was smiling. 

“Honey-bear, I think I would like to sleep for a few months.  Pepper can take over my estate.”  He paused. 

“After I kill the bastard that betrayed me.”

* * *

James had luckily known the right transport spells to get him close to the Wakandan border in a few hours.  He hadn’t wanted to leave the man behind, but he wasn’t about to trade Hydra for another bloodthirsty master (especially one that kidnapped someone and thrust a dragon heart inside them.  He’d had enough of body parts being replaced.)

And Stark, who he’d left behind?  Well, it hadn’t seemed like the man could trust him near enough to take his help.  He was right enough, if his mind could be believed.  He still couldn’t get the echoes—ever stronger—out of his head.  They were most definitely memories. 

Something with Stark, the older one, something with _Stevie_ the man he knew.  A shield—fuck.  It wasn’t enough.  Like bleeding ink on parchment, not clear enough to read. 

“Halt!” called a harsh voice.  He froze.  A dark-skinned woman in bright armor pointed a spear at him. 

“I’ve come to speak with Prince T’Challa and Princess Shuri,” he explained.  Her lips pressed in an almost-frown. 

“King T’Challa, now.  It nearly was not so.  Tell me—why must you speak with them?”

“I’m here because Tony Stark said his Highness owed him a favor, and Stark owed me.”  Her eyes narrowed. 

“The Marquis Stark?  Who’s been missing for three months now?  You ask us about his favors now, while we nearly spiraled into war with ourselves?”  He shook his head. 

“I had no idea.  I just—I needed a direction to go, and this seemed as good as any once he offered.  I only saw him in passing.” _As he prepared to escape kidnappers._

“What is your name?”

“James.  He said something about M’Baku and the rhino?”  Her eyes sparked, relaxing a fraction. 

“You’ll come with me—we have good healers here, and you look exhausted.  Then you will have your audience with the King.  You are technically trespassing, so I must take you to the holding cells, but it will be short-lived.”

James followed her, wary that she looked ready to run him through at any given opportunity.  Everyone he passed in the streets was just as wary of him.  The clothing was strange and bright. He rather liked it to be honest. _I hated dragging things back to the dyers to bring them back to brightness, so I’d never worn things particularly bright before.  The dyers had stunk to high heavens—what?  When had I—?_

“I am General Okoye.  If anyone questions your presence here—we don’t like foreigners, but our new king is rather softhearted for those that come in earnest,” she said with exasperated fondness. 

James knew the feeling, he was sure of that. 

“Sometimes it’s good to be reminded that some people still have good hearts willing to make the world better,” he told her.  She nodded, then glanced at the next bed over.  A man was laying on his side, turned away from them. 

“Do not disturb him.  He is a prisoner for much worse crimes than trespassing.  I will fetch healers for you; then we will see about the king,” she said. 

“Understood.”

A few minutes later, the guards at the door—who he’d barely noticed until they rotated—switched out.  They were so still when they were at their station that they practically blended in with the ornate architecture of the palace.  James begrudgingly thanked whatever training kept him from startling and making a fool of himself. 

Apparently, the prisoner was used to them, because he didn’t react either.  James frowned.  _Do not disturb him_ —right. 

“Hngh.” The man huffed sullenly, rolling onto his back.  James stared for a few moments as the man glared at the ceiling, ignoring everything around him.  _Do not disturb him._   Well, the Winter Sorcerer was nothing if not disturbing, so it was probably time to get some rest, finally. 

* * *

It would figure that he was a light sleeper, because a rustle from the accompanying bed woke him up. 

“I’m tryin’ to sleep,” he muttered lowly before sitting up.  His eyes caught a glint of light off of glass in the guy’s hands and—

“Whoa, whoever you are, I really, really do not want you doing what you’re doing right now,” he said, rolling out of bed and standing up.  The guy froze, a piece of a mirror pulled from its frame inches from his wrist. 

“I told him that I would rather die than be his prisoner,” he hissed back.  James frowned, eyes flicking from the makeshift blade in the man’s hand to the vein popped out on his neck to the sweat on his brow. 

“Told who?”

“Their king,” he sneered, “When I challenged him for the throne, I won.  I was going to take over, make things right,” he said.

“And so would your death make anything right?  You lost.  Fine.  Pick a new fight, pick a new strategy.  Don’t just fucking—” he grit his teeth.  How could fate exactly entrust him with the life of another?  The death, that was easy.  Saving someone?  That was more Stevie’s thing.  _I really need to figure out who the hell Stevie is_. 

“Why does it have to be me?” he challenged. 

“Why does it have to be anyone?  What’s your name?”

“Depends on who’s side you’re on.  You’re his highness’s friend?”

“I’m James.  Or the Winter Sorcerer.  Depends on whose side you’re on.”  The guy sneered, but didn’t look away from him.  Didn’t glance at the glass in his hands. 

“You’re crazy,” the prisoner said flatly.  “What would the Winter Sorcerer be doing here?”  James grinned a little at that. 

“Nothing, yet.  I’m looking for a new fight.”  And he carefully pulled off the glove that kept his enchanted arm hidden. 

The prisoner stared. 

“You’re serious.”

“As you are,” he gestured at the man’s hand.  “What’s your name?”  He laughed harshly. 

“Good question.  My father gave me a Wakandan name.  My mother gave me a foreign one—I’ve only ever stepped foot in Wakanda as of two days ago, and I was briefly her king—of course, my cousin was always going to be the one they sided with.”  James blinked owlishly. 

“That’s—a lot.  Admittedly, I’m not nearly as interesting.  I don’t remember most of my life before being the Winter—well, I’m not that anymore.  What name would you _rather_ be called?”

“ . . . to you, I’m Erik.  Erik Stevens,” he said after a few minutes.  “I wish to the others here I would still be N’Jadaka.”  Stevens.  _Steven Rogers, you get back here this minute before you catch a damn cold!  Captain Steven Rogers, we’ll follow your lead.  Steven Rogers is dead, Sorcerer.  No one will come to save you now._ A sting with that last one, but—holy shit. 

 _The Captain_ —the one on that statue, the one the children played at being.  He was “the companion”.  Stevie was the _Captain._   

“Well, Erik,” James grinned, “What if I told you you’re in the presence of probably the maddest sorcerer there ever was?  I’m a legend twice over. And the best-looking man over a hundred years old.”  Erik stared. 

“No.  Just no.  I—you can’t just throw something like that at me with no explanation!”

James grinned.  Strange stories like his and Steve’s could keep a man alive—for all it had done for them. 

* * *

Okoye had explained it all to Shuri and T’Challa, and Shuri had immediately decided that she would take over the visitor’s care.  The guard rotation had just switched to report when one of her guards rushed in, eyes wide. 

“Our visitor just stopped N’Jadaka from killing himself by telling him he’s the Winter Sorcerer and the First Captain’s companion,” she said.  T’Challa paused and sighed before replying. 

“I think I need to hear this from the beginning.”

* * *

“And what is the name of your village, again?  I’m trying to see if anything is the same as I think I remember,” he asked.  Peter shrugged. 

“Queenstown.  I know, very creative,” he said.  Steve remembered a Queenstown, not too far from—

“Brooklyn,” he said.  “Just north of Gravesend.”  Peter grinned. 

“You didn’t wander too far, then!”

Steve sighed.  Luckily enough, the castle was only a few hours away on horseback, and Peter was a good distraction from heavy thoughts.  The young man began chattering about the court, telling Steve who he ought and ought not to trust and who was likable and what to bribe the baker with to get the best bits at dinner. 

It didn’t matter, of course, how much he distracted himself.  He was still going to remember what had happened only weeks before—

Bucky, who he’d always come to, who he’d finally saved after so much saving the other way around.  Bucky, all sly grins and barking laughs.  _Gone._   Despite the fact that everyone else—absolutely everyone else—was gone as well, that still hurt the most.  No one would be around that remembered him. 

“—and Marquis Stark is descended from a family that knew the Captain and his Companion,” Peter said happily.  Steve would have landed face-first in the dirt if they’d been walking. 

“The—the captain?” Steve said tentatively.  Peter snorted. 

“Wow, you really don’t remember much, do you?  It’s only the best legend ever.”  Legend.  _Gods above._  

“Rooted in history—most legends are,” Steve said quietly. 

“Well, yes, of course,” Peter said, “They actually existed, but it was so long ago that who knows what’s true or not.  A man that could lift three injured knights on his back for miles? A shield that could be thrown and always returned, made from metal from a fallen star and could fold together like paper?  It’s so . . . beyond belief.  Inconceivable.”

Steve smiled, hand going to the clasp on his back.  He removed the small metal five-pointed star and looked Peter in the eye. 

“Are you sure about that?” he said.  He pressed the center of the star, and the rings of metal unfolded from underneath it.  Peter stared, gaping. 

“You’re—?”

“I knew the stories,” he said mildly, “I just didn’t know they were legends.”

* * *

Of course, Peter had a thousand questions, most of which Steve tried to answer.  Have you been in disguise?  Where were you?  Was the Red Skull really hard to fight?  Did you always have this strength?  It was not as nearly as aggravating as it should have been, the grilling questions.  By the time he’d satisfied Peter, they’d arrived at the castle gate. 

“Now, please, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Steve told him.  “I can’t afford to draw attention.  I want to be able to protect others, but they’d swarm me if I made any moves to reveal myself.”  Peter nodded, eyes sharpening. 

“I know how that is, Capt—I mean, Steve.  Believe it or not, I do.”  Steve didn’t question him—after all, he’d just given him a huge opportunity to make a spectacle (and if there was one thing Steve never wanted to be again, it was a spectacle). 

They’d entered and Peter immediately introduced him to one of the watchmen—Coulson, who with the captain of the Queen’s Guard coordinated the defense of the castle. 

“He’s a fan of old legends, that one,” Peter whispered after the introductions were over.  Coulson rolled his eyes.

“Which you appreciate so you have someone to talk to about them.  Now, if Steve wants to be a guard it’s all up to Nick.”

Nick, of course, turned out to be one surly Sir Fury who seemed to be in a constant state of irritation. 

“Parker, I can’t take on a stranger just because you’ve taken a liking to him,” he groused. 

“I’d be more than happy to take on whatever jobs are necessary, Sir,” Steve said, “I just need something to support myself and to occupy my time.  Put me to work where you want me, and I swear I will do what’s necessary.”  Fury eyed him. 

“Fine, son, but you’ll be at all of our training.  Sometimes even looking as intimidating as you do will be enough as a guard, but I can hardly have any of my men out there just standing and glaring people away.  A hell of a lot of good that would do against a Chitauri demon or a bandit,” he grumbled. 

“It’s a deal, sir.”  Peter beamed at the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve: How are you and Wade even friends?  
> Peter: Shh just let it happen
> 
> Tony: *does a quick side quest that ends up being basically IM3*  
> Rhodey, seeing Tony: How did you escape??? Who did this???  
> Tony: honestly I didn’t think I’d get this far I was just going to blow everything up  
> Rhodey: Tony no  
> Tony: T o n y y e s
> 
> Erik: honestly I didn’t think I’d get this far I was just going to blow everything up but that didn’t work so I guess I’ll die  
> Bucky: Erik no  
> T’Challa: . . . You all are going to give me a heart attack I swear


	3. The Queen's Avengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golems  
> Objects or constructs can be given orders and a sense of life if given a steady stream of magical energy. The more complicated mind given to a golem, or the more powerful the influencer wants it to be, the more energy must be fed to it. They are therefore often given simple tasks, such as repetitive chores or guarding entrances. More powerful sorcerers and dragons sometimes kept golems as companions with near-human intelligence as friends and guardians that cannot truly die.

Rhodey crossed his arms.  “You’ve gone through hell, yes.  Are you sure you don’t want to take time to recover first?”

“Well, someone sold me out to those bandits,” Tony said bitterly, “And I’m certainly not going to let them have another chance before I take them down.  Say, have you seen a knight errant or a scavenger heading towards Wakanda?”  Rhodey blinked. 

“No.  I haven’t.  What in hell, Tony?” 

And he told Rhodey all of it, because there was only one man he truly trusted in the world not to stab him from behind. 

“Bastards,” he cursed, “You can’t go in without some sort of disguise.  How do you fancy being the Iron Knight for a while?” Tony frowned. 

“At court?”

“Discretion might be the answer here.” But Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“You think _this_ ,” he gestured at the red and gold armor, glinting brightly, “is _discrete?_

“No, and neither are you, but this is as close as we’re going to get,” he sighed. 

* * *

 

They traveled a few days’ time to return.  None of the present guards under Rhodey’s command ever saw Tony’s face—only knew that he was the “Iron Knight” and that he was trustworthy.  They said as much as they returned to the castle—that the knight was pleasant, funny, witty.  That he saved a young woman from a pack of wolves on his own.  The rumors of the chivalrous hero had already reached the castle, some wilder than the actual events, some accurate enough. 

(None of these things would be expected of the Marquis Stark, a flirtatious, self-absorbed noble that drowned himself in debauchery and wine.  Kindness and courage hardly fit that face.)

It got them an audience with the queen—a knight with red enchanted armor and a chivalrous nature.  It was too perfect a hero to pass up. 

“Your highness,” Rhodes knelt, eyes locked with the queen.  “I request a private audience with you, myself, and the Iron Knight.”

“Granted,” she said, “No one else.  Rhodes is perfectly capable should our Iron Knight go mad,” she said, waving her men away. 

Once they were alone, Tony inclined his head. 

“Your Highness.  I’m sorry for the deception, but it’s necessary.  There are still people after Stark, after me, and I would like to protect my loved ones by keeping my name a secret.” 

“You were kidnapped, I take it?  What of Stark, what did he say?”

“Kidnapped in the middle of a weapons demonstration,” Tony confirmed. 

“And so our Iron Knight is here to investigate who kidnapped Tony.  Sir Iron here helped Tony escape and stayed with him for some time, becoming attached to him as a friend, before they got separated by bandits.” Rhodey summarized. 

“And it could be for anything,” the queen sighed, “His title, his riches, his mind—ah, I remember his mind, Tony—brilliant as a star.  Now, this could prove to be excellent or terrible timing—it is time for a summit with Asgard and Wakanda.  As you’re probably aware, we meet every three years at one of our kingdoms to discuss treaties, trade ideas, and celebrate the peace between our kingdoms.  It is Scyld’s turn to host this year.”

“Sounds terrible to me,” grumbled Tony, “Loki will be here.”

“Ah, Tony’s told you about him?  Yes, but it will be a chance for us to investigate the most people at once,” she said. 

* * *

 

Thus Iron Man was housed in Tony’s rooms, a trusted protector.  He wrote letters in secret, claiming he was receiving them from birds Tony was sending in secret from wherever he was.  He wanted his golems sent to the castle in his absence, he was making his way home, other convenient edicts. 

Everyone, including the court clerk, Murdock, was certain it was all in Tony’s hand.  The blind man had a knack for feeling documents, knowing the particular shape of certain handwriting.  He also had a knack for outing dishonest people, which helped in Tony’s case—“This is Tony Stark’s letter” was hardly a lie. 

It clearly frustrated some of the elder court members, the old names that always wanted things properly done.  But it was enough for Her Majesty, so he was able to be “Tony Stark’s personal guard” as he began speaking with his associates, seeing who acted differently. 

He tried to ignore how much kinder people seemed to be to Sir Iron, the faceless hero.  He also tried to ignore the poison coming from the glowing crystal in his chest, the heat in his palms or the constant dryness in his throat, blackness crawling up his skin, the incessant thought sounding an awful lot like his captors _poisoned a heart you don’t even have, hm?_

* * *

 

It had been a week since that first conversation with Erik, and Bucky had somehow earned the Wakandans’ trust by essentially talking down a near-tyrant from suicide. 

This new world was strange. 

The king was a sorcerer and warrior both, a black panther his familiar.  Apparently, it was tradition for the kings to bond with panthers. 

He didn’t know how he didn’t notice Erik’s golden panther, a sleek, spotted leopard, sleeping next to his bed, but he hadn’t until after getting the history lesson from Princess Shuri. 

The princess was a whirlwind of magic and knowledge, already set on recreating his arm and removing the compulsion runes that had chained him down.  Wakanda was dizzying in its strange magics and advancements—boats run by steam, not men, carriages without horses, images of light moving across walls. 

It was beautiful and fast and enchanting, all of it.  He resorted to children’s books and history in the hopes of understanding _what the hell had happened to him_.  Curses, compulsions, he understood.  But to remove his own memories and make him an assassin?  Hydra had passed quite a lot of energy between themselves if they’d kept him as long as he suspected. 

After careful study, they found that he’d still had some relics and curses embedded within the arm itself.  He offered Erik the chance to destroy it, and he grinned as viciously as his familiar to tear the thing apart once Shuri had removed it. 

Erik reminded him of boys in his village, ones whose names escaped him.  Scrappy, angry at the world for owing them too much and always taking. 

A bit like Steve, only Steve was angry on everyone’s behalf, not just his own.  Erik had rapidly become Bucky’s friend in Wakanda, with them both being strangers that the King wanted alive but didn’t know what to do with.  They sparred, told dumb jokes, reminisced about war. 

The thing was, for all Erik had chosen his fight, and for all Bucky hadn’t—they both had felt that helplessness.  Erik had been driven by it; Bucky had been forced. 

“Makes sense that I’m not the Black Panther, really,” he sighed, leaning back against Killmonger, the big, spotted, golden cat that sometimes just seemed an extension of the man himself. 

“Too stoic.  Not enough drama,” Bucky deadpanned.  “Shoulda seen the Howlers, I’m telling you—”

“Enough war stories, old man,” he laughed.  Bucky scoffed indignantly. 

“ _Old_ —”

* * *

 

There was one inhabitant of the castle Peter didn’t know, and that was the Iron Knight.  Steve met him on his own—by gawking at his beautifully crafted armor while the man discussed something with Lady Romanov.  Apparently, he recognized her. 

“And Stark was very explicit about you, who’d thrown his favorite guard to the floor in a moment.  Mistress Rushman, he’d called you,” he said accusingly.  Romanov smiled. 

“I was assigned to him by my employers at the time.  They had also assigned the Winter Sorcerer to the same mission, but he’d managed to kill his last master.” She paused.  “It wasn’t long before I joined him and we set out to destroy Hydra relics.  I returned here because I owed Barton my life—and now I’m the Queen’s agent.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.  Barton, the goofy marksman, hadn’t exactly seemed to match Romanov.  She was too serious, too deadly, to seem like the kind to befriend him.  Stark, sure, from what people said—a whip-smart smartass. 

Barton seemed too kind for her. 

“What did you think of Stark?  My time with him was short, but I’m planning on pledging to be his guard once he’s found.  Or to act in vengeance, should he be dead.”  Romanov blinked. 

“That’s a strong loyalty, for a man you barely knew.”

“I owe him my life, my lady.  You might understand how that changes someone.” 

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Steve said, stepping around the corner.  Romanov was unmoved, but Sir Iron jumped. 

“Gah—well, you might have continued.  I didn’t need the extra pressure on this old heart,” he grunted.  “Why does everyone sneak around here like snakes?”

“Not all of us wear scarlet and gold armor like a walking target,” Romanov quipped. 

“This armor is _beautiful_ , thank you,” sniffed Sir Iron. 

“It really is,” agreed Steve.  “The maker really has an artist’s hand.”  The Iron Knight snorted. 

“Stark?  The Merchant of Death?  I’d hardly call him an artist.”  Steve shook his head. 

“It’s beautiful work, really.  Enchanted, I heard?  You wouldn’t be able to tell if it weren’t for that glowing core.  Everything is seamless.”

“And who might you be?”

“Steve Rogers.  Peter Parker brought me to the castle—see if I can jog any memories about what happened to me.  I woke up lost in the woods and rather clueless.” 

Sir Iron’s head tilted. 

“Good to meet you, Master Rogers.” 

“Likewise, Sir Iron.”  Steve felt heat rise in his cheeks.  There was something gallant and mysterious about the man who never lifted the visor, no matter his single-minded loyalties.    

* * *

 

It was near the end of dinner in the hall when Queen Carol made the announcement. 

“In a few weeks’ time there will be a summit.  I have invited the court of Asgard and the council of Wakanda to visit our home.”  She went on to explain treaty renegotiations, celebrations and the like.  Steve nudged Barton, who’d been working with him in the training fields for the past week or so. 

“Have you met any of them?” He scowled. 

“I _hate_ Prince Loki.  His brother, the king, is decent.  We don’t see much of the Wakandans, so it’s hard to say about the rest.”

“And, to secure my chosen court from the summit and to further ensure our safety, Sir Fury will assemble a team to prepare for the festivities.  . . . An honor guard,” she said fondly, “which will become my personal knights with seats on the summit court after appropriate training.”  Sir Fury’s one eye scanned the room as he spoke. 

“Yes—and we’ll be having our first meeting in about three minutes if they would follow me after this.  Steve Rogers.  Clint Barton.  Lady Romanov.  Bruce Banner.  Sir Iron.  Peter Parker.  I have a quest in order.” With a sweep of his dark cloak, he stalked out of the room, and they all followed.  Steve glanced between the people in the team. 

The Iron Knight was mysterious, but no one could doubt the sheer craft from his armor.  He definitely had more protection than the average knight errant.

Steve itched for a paintbrush to capture the gleaming scarlet and the unnatural blue glow at the center. 

Banner was an unassuming, quiet fellow.  A physician, Steve remembered from his discussions with Peter.  And Barton was the best archer in the whole of the kingdom if rumors were to be believed. 

Natasha Romanov was quietly frightening.  It reminded him a little of Peg, with more terror and less fondness.  Peter hardly seemed fit for a mission, but he’d be a quick messenger and eager to watch after the horses—

_Well, you can’t help but form some kind of mad strategy, even as you leap into danger,_ Bucky had said.  He wasn’t wrong.  They’d stopped in an empty guests’ quarters.  Fury locked the door behind them. 

“Unfortunately, King Victor from the east has not encouraged her majesty to grant him an invitation.  He allows bandits of all sorts to make their way into the kingdom.  I’m assigning a team to take out Baron Lehnsherr, who is organizing these attacks according to his children, who are defecting,” Sir Fury explained.  “They are keeping up appearances until we stand against the Baron—without his central support, the leaders of the different troops will begin infighting as they used to.”

“And what does that mean for us?” asked Lady Romanov. 

“I intend for you six to assist in defeating the Maximoff twins’ father so that they can take over the estate before he tries to incite civil war,” Fury said. 

Peter’s eyes widened.  Fury shook his head even as the young man sputtered. 

“Not you, kid—you’re a squire for this mission, as far as I’m concerned.  Sir Iron and the others could use a pair of hands.”

“And what exactly do you have me here for?” snorted Banner.  “Surely you can’t expect me to be of any help.” 

“You’re a last resort, in many senses.  You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” Bruce’s eyes glinted an off shade of green—it must have been the light playing tricks—before he grimaced. 

Perhaps Banner was hiding nearly as much as Steve was. 

After settling that they were, indeed, going on the quest, they saddled up and packed rations.  They began circling each other—Steve figured if he was likely to work with them (after all, a summit could take a whole season if the rulers came to a disagreement)

“Have you been here long?” Steve asked Banner, who shook his head. 

“About three weeks, actually.  Fury has been trying to convince me to stay, but I prefer being in quieter areas.”

“Don’t deny it; you like it here,” Romanov smiled. 

Steve worried about that smile. 

“More or less.”

“And how exactly did Fury choose us, do you think?” Peter asked, frowning.  “I mean—we’re all strangers to one another.”

“I think he saw something we each had to offer,” Sir Iron replied.  “He saw something special.  After all, Barton is the best shot in the kingdom.  I wager each of us has something Fury wants.”

“Barton’s aim, your armor,” Steve gestured to each of them, “He’s certainly planning _something_.”

“. . . Do you ever leave your armor?” asked Romanov, eyebrow arching like a waking cat. 

“I do, but it’s tiresome.  You see, I have a dragon’s heart powering the enchantments to the suit, which also keeps me from collapsing and at worse dying from a poisoned wound.”  Banner stiffened.  _The armor keeps him alive?_ Steve wondered.  Stark had indeed saved Sir Iron’s life. 

“Do you mind not surprising me?” he grunted.  “I have a condition.”

“So do I,” chuckled Sir Iron, gesturing to the heart glowing from his breast.  No one laughed, but they all smiled. 

* * *

 

It was a day and a half journey.  They kept chatting amiably—Steve almost felt at home among them. 

“And you, Master Rogers?  How’d you get into the Cyclops’s favor so quickly?” jabbed the Iron Knight.  Steve laughed. 

“Would you believe I don’t know?  Coulson likes me well enough, too.  Peter’s ultimately the one that vouched for me.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be said for that, considering Wade,” Barton grumbled. 

“He’s my friend,” Peter replied viciously.  Steve started—the young man had _never_ had a temper as long as he’d known him.  Apparently, it was a repeated argument, because Barton shrugged and said nothing else. 

“There—the manor should be over the next two hills,” said Natasha abruptly. 

“Barton—would you get in a tree and see what we may be dealing with on the grounds?” He didn’t want to overstep, but there just had to be direction of some sort. 

_Bucky, scout the area._

_Yeah, Steve, Captain, sure.  Not all of us were magically made ridiculously agile._

_Buck, you could fly if you wanted to; you have no reason to complain._

_I have the most reasons to complain, darling, and they all start with you._

“Can do.”  Barton scrambled up the trees—Steve worried a moment that he might fall, but Romanov simply rolled her eyes, so he said nothing.  They unpacked the minimum weapons they’d needed, and Peter fed the horses. 

“Golems,” Barton grunted, dropping suddenly from a branch, “some metal, some stone.  They’re sentries all over the property.”

“Well, we’d best not leave them standing,” Sir Iron said.  “How many?”

“Thirty at least, fifty at most.  A third of them are about human-sized, the rest a bit smaller.”

“Barton, find the best line of sight you can—when the rest of us attack, start taking them out.”

“Will do,” he nodded, and darted off into the branches again. 

“I don’t trust this,” Banner said warily, “I had best stay behind with the medical supplies.”

“Sir Iron?” He hadn’t seen the man use a sword at all before.  He always managed to deflect blows on the practice grounds. 

“I’m best in the middle of a melee—they can’t exactly break something like this,” he tapped his arm for emphasis. 

“Right.  Romanov?”  She grinned. 

“There’s a reason people whisper about the Black Widow as much as the Winter Sorcerer, Steve.  I’ll fight as necessary; you won’t even notice.”

“Good.  I’ll be in the middle of it too, I suppose,” Steve said.  “Let’s try to take out as many as possible at once before they retaliate.”  They nodded and followed him onto the manor grounds. 

From there, it was chaos. 

Barton’s arrows took eleven of them down before Steve even reached one, bashing its head in.  He brandished his sword and began cutting down each one as it came to him. 

Sir Iron’s hands and heart began to glow.  What could only be described as a flash of blue fire erupted from his palms, utterly destroying six at once. 

Romanov left them twisted and twitching, and then—there was another warrior in a red cloak.  His arrows appeared to be enchanted, because the moment they hit a golem, they turned into a glowing spider’s web.  The warrior would be there one moment, assisting them, and gone the next.

“Is that the Spider?” asked Sir Iron, “Because I’ve been _dying_ to figure out those nets.  What are the chances?” Steve rolled his eyes.  _It’s all insane, time to just keep going._

It hadn’t even been a challenge by the time they made it to the door. 

“Barton!” Steve called, and the archer joined them. 

“Who even was that one?” he grumbled, “I’d love a look at those arrows.”

“I’ll see if I can have my smith do something like that,” offered Sir Iron.

Inside was the Baron, sword pointed at the door.  

“Don’t you dare!” he cowered. 

“This was a lot of warding and guards for one man,” mused Romanov, “Got something to hide, Lehnsherr?”  The man’s eyes glowed— _a sorcerer, then—_

“I will _not_ rot in another cell!” he cried, sword flying directly for the Iron Knight.  Steve didn’t have time to react—his body moved before he could think of a plan.  It wasn’t even a choice.  He pressed the star and threw his shield.  It knocked the sword out of the air, bounced off of a wall, and hit its final target.  The shield collided with the baron square in the chest, knocking him down, before glowing and leaping right back into Steve’s hands. 

Everyone stared.  He’d find out later that he’d been standing in front of a tapestry depicting him with the shield—and it had been a good likeness.  Dread curled in his stomach.   

They returned to the camp in silence. 

“Is everyone all right?” worried Peter. 

“A few scrapes and bruises.  The Baron got the worst of it,” said Barton, gesturing to their captive. 

“Oh?  I have some salves, at least,” Banner said, turning to his kit. 

“Steve is the Captain,” Barton blurted.  Peter blinked. 

“You told them?”

“You knew?!” spluttered Sir Iron.  Peter blushed.

“I asked him to keep it a secret,” Steve said, “I’ll explain while our good physician tends to our wounds.”

As he explained himself, Banner cleaned up some of the burns and cuts they’d gathered. 

“So, rather than stay home, safe and sound, you met with a wizard so you could fight the war against Red Skull,” summarized Lady Romanov.  “And here they spoke so highly of you in stories.  Are you just made of righteous temper?”

“Sounds just about right,” Steve sighed.  “But I couldn’t just stand aside and watch other people die under the tyrant.  It looks like I did the right thing, in the end.”

“Yes, well, up until the spell took its toll,” Banner mused, “Lost in time.  Everything you’ve ever known—well.  You’ve taken it better than most would, from what I imagine.  Most of us would go raving mad.”  Steve shook his head. 

“Some days I wonder if I am.  I just take each day and hope I leave the world a better place when it’s all over.” 

“I think that’s what we all aim for,” Sir Iron agreed. 

* * *

 

“For your valor and for your abilities.  For your loyalty and your choices—I am going to knight each one of you.  Sir Fury has rightfully named you my honor guard, and indeed each of you shall have your own honor as a member.  You shall be my Avengers,” the queen said, looking at each one of them. 

“Your Majesty?” Steve asked.  “I’ve never held a title before, so I must thank you, and—”

“Hush, Rogers,” she smiled, a twinkle in her eye.  “Rest assured I do not knight every lord.  And not every knight is of noble descent—their nobility rests in their actions.  You all have proved yourselves.  It will be a useful thing in the coming summit—with so many strangers around and missions I’ll have ready for each of you.”

She took up a ceremonial sword and gestured for them to kneel. 

“Lady Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow.”  There was steel reflected in the two women’s eyes as the title was given. 

“Sir Clint Barton, Hawkeye.” Clint just gave a crooked grin. 

“Sir Bruce Banner, Healer and Hulk alike.” Her gaze was knowing, and Banner smiled sadly back. 

“ . . . Sir Iron,” she smiled, “A man with a will of iron, indeed.” Finally, she came to Steve. 

“And, if this shield is any indication, I am standing with a legend come alive,” she said. 

“I’m just a man like any other,” he replied. 

“Somehow, I doubt that, Captain.  Or should I say Sir Rogers?” And she tapped the tip of the blade to his shoulder.  Finally, she turned to Peter and frowned. 

“You’re a bit young for a knighting, and rather untrained.  Care to squire under Sir Rogers, young master Parker?”  Peter’s eyes widened. 

“I’d love to, if he’ll take me.”  Steve grinned. 

“Of course I would, Peter.”

* * *

 

When he went to the top of the outer wall to think, Nick Fury was waiting. 

“According to everyone’s reports, you were quite the hero,” he said. 

“It took effort from all of us, sir.”

“That’s not what I mean, Rogers.  None of them called you out, but Lehnsherr didn’t exactly have that kind of loyalty.”  Steve’s eyes widened. 

“Sir—”

“And I’m neither completely blind nor dumb, _Captain_ ,” he said.  “Of that, I can assure you.  You think you were sly when you lifted that cart off of old Master Lee last week?  No.  No regular man could do that, Rogers.  So I asked Her Majesty to knight you—don’t worry.  This won’t be the first secret I’ve kept for someone.”

Steve frowned. 

“More people are finding out by the day,” he said, “I won’t be made a fool of.”

“Believe me, that is not my intention.”  Fury glanced across the city.  “You’d better head to the training grounds.  I think your new squire is eager to learn.”

* * *

 

 “I need you to get the nearest golem with Jarvis’s persona intact and bring it here, Rhodey.  He’s the best ally to add to this,” Tony said.  He nodded. 

“I’ll alert the queen that I’m going to go to Stark Estate with a few men to see if we can find any information.” 

“Travel safe,” Tony warned.  Rhodey shook his head. 

“You’re the one I’m worried about,” he said.  Tony ignored the twinge in his chest, the itching in his skin surrounding the crystal. 

“Don’t be,” he said. 

* * *

 

Tony leaned against the armory door and watched. 

Peter and Steve were sparring in the field, slow and measured movements.  It was so odd seeing Peter trying to fight—he’d always been so eager to learn about Tony’s workshop.  Maybe he was just eager to learn in general.  A dark wave of jealousy threatened to grip him as he watched Steve help his servant get into a proper posture. 

_Am I jealous of Steve being a mentor, or of Peter spending time with Steve?_ he thought hysterically.    

“Your stance is a bit low to the ground,” Steve frowned as Peter readied himself. 

“I have less distance to fall that way,” he replied idly.  Tony wanted to chuckle, but he just stood aside and watched. 

“Yes, well, you’ll never reach me, either.  There are other ways to avoid getting hurt in a fall.  I used to be smaller than you even when I was three years older than you, so I have a good understanding of how to move around without getting hurt,” he assured him.  “I didn’t start out as the Captain.  I was just Steve.”

Peter hesitated. 

“What was your companion’s name?  The sorcerer?”  Ah, the kid’s curiosity.  It did really help in this situation, though—Tony had been wondering as well. 

“My best friend—Bucky.  Well, his given name was James Barnes, but he hated it, so Bucky, for his middle name.”  Steve smiled.  Tony saw how his face softened— _a lost love, then_. 

“Sir Iron!” Peter started after a moment.  Steve twitched. 

“Spying, sir?”

“It’s called observing, Captain.  You and your squire had to interrupt what was turning out to be a good lesson with reminiscing, though, so I ended up hearing more than I imagine I was meant to,” he shrugged.  Steve shook his head. 

“No, it’s perfectly fine.”

“It doesn’t seem so.”

“We’re on a team, Sir Iron,” Steve told him wryly, “And if it becomes anything like my last one, we’ll be trusting our lives with one another.  I like to think that the more people that know who Bucky was, the more his memory will get to live on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey and Tony: All right, the Iron Knight will be a super secret disguise  
> Also Rhodey and Tony: Isn't this super flashy red and gold armor perfect for high adventure?  
> Steve, meeting Tony in the armor: Oh geez that's beautiful craftsmanship *continues to gush*  
> Tony: *chokes* Neat!
> 
> Carol: Yeah Fury and I had this idea  
> Fury: To bring together a group of remarkable people  
> The OG MCU Avengers, minus Thor plus Peter: *squints suspiciously* Sure okay.  
> Steve: *flashbacks about Bucky* I will not let anyone else die on me   
> Tony: *gets attacked*  
> Steve: YEET  
> Everyone: O.O
> 
> Steve: I won't be a dancing monkey  
> Fury: no man we want you to save the world I had you pegged from the beginning. Please train this *cough* spider *cough* child. 
> 
> Tony: Do I want to punch him for taking my kid or kiss him?  
> Steve: *gives sweet heartbreaking backstory*  
> Tony: Dammit I want to kiss him


	4. Summit Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courtly Ranks  
> Queen Carol rules the kingdom of Scyld alone. Noble titles are given either through blood or are bestowed by her. The ranking in her court is as follows: The Queen, Marquis, Lords, Earls, Viscounts, and Barons (with all their respective female counterparts as equals). She considers Masters and Mistresses, working people, important components of her kingdom as well.  
> King Thor rules after the death of King Odin, who had ruled for many years alongside Thor’s mother. He has broken many rules regarding rank: his brother, Prince Loki, is always considered Regent in Thor’s absence, when the rest of the court resents the prince (after all, he was a traitor). In Asgard, there are no lords and ladies—instead, “thanes”, or lords and warriors that have proved themselves, hold status based off of their battles.  
> King T’Challa’s council holds no sway over royal decisions. Titles such as “prince” and “princess” do work within the royal family, but are mostly out of respect. Cousins, adopted siblings, and honored protectors of the throne, too, could receive titles.  
> “Sir” is a separate title; it is an honor bestowed at the discretion of the monarch.

The princess had insisted he spend time outside while she created a new arm for him that was “cleaner, better, stronger, and did I say better?  Trust me, Barnes, I can do much better.”

He stopped asking questions a few hours in, and she shooed him into the farmlands. 

He’d stayed on a small plot of land, taking care of baby goats while they figured out what to do with him (the tense council wanted him imprisoned; the royal family wanted him rewarded.  Either way, they wanted him out of the way while they worked on healing techniques for his mind and for the lingering pain from his lost limb.) 

He read in the meantime—spellbooks, history.  He was a legend.  _Steve_ was a hero of mythic levels.  It was right, he figured, that Steve managed to be remembered in the fashion he had. 

It was frustrating, though, seeing all the vagueness in the legends, all the loss when it came to knowledge of dragons when indeed the Red Skull had been their foe. 

He set out to correct things in the margins of each book he was given. 

_Dragons—a strange type of human that can shift to creature and access magic beyond our understanding._   Howard had been a curious, strange man with rolling, tumbling speech that never seemed to stop. 

_A human can be granted a dragon’s heart if they possess certain magical marks in their blood._ And, of course, Tony.  Bucky hoped he’d had those.  It was difficult to say whether the two Starks were related, or if that would even help.  Bucky hoped it would. 

_The Red Skull did not possess these.  That is why he was half-dragon, half-mad._ No, he’d definitely been mad from the beginning.  He made at least twenty changes to that particular description, because _dragons_ weren’t necessarily evil.  It was the person that one started with that made the difference. 

It was one evening of doing just that when things changed.  He’d been writing about the fact that Steve had not, in fact, studied magic himself and did not come riding in on a lion familiar and that Bucky had not been a _child_ in the war, good _gods_ that was insane—it certainly helped his memory, correcting these things. 

A white wolf was growling around the goats.  He glared at it—even animals tended to back down from his more menacing magic presence—but this one wasn’t.  Bucky frowned.  Its ribs weren’t showing, but it definitely seemed skinnier than it ought to be, and there was no pack behind it to pounce. 

He offered it a chunk of the pork he’d been eating.  The wolf glared back at him as it inched towards the food.  Its hot breath caught his hand when it snatched the treat away, fur brushing his fingers. 

His magic _twisted_ and—

Oh. 

He stared, and the wolf looked genuinely as surprised as him.  She tilted her head, because it was definitely a her, Bucky could feel that with a strange certainty. 

“I—well, that was unexpected,” Bucky said.  The wolf huffed, exasperation and amusement rolling off her in waves, almost like _you’re telling me._

Only some powerful sorcerers ever got familiars, and it was clear in Wakanda that certain ones meant certain things.  He’d better check with the king. 

* * *

 

“You’ve _got_ to be joking,” grumbled T’Challa.  “A man with little to no memory wanders into my kingdom saying the missing Marquis Stark’s his friend and is calling in on a favor, is the Captain’s companion, is the Winter _fucking_ Sorcerer, and then manages to bond with a white wolf, a bond that is nigh on indestructible.  Your life is impossible, Barnes!”  Shuri giggled—apparently, she lived to exasperate her brother, and Bucky was fast becoming her best friend through a single rant.  Bucky shrugged. 

“I know.  At this point, I just follow along.”

“Bah,” he waved a hand at him dismissively, “That’s not why I called you here, anyway.  I’ve come to a solution for you and N’Jadaka with the council.  You two will, should you agree, become my personal guards for the duration of the coming summit in Scyld.  We’ll be treating with them and Asgard.  I know you’re from Scyld—my cousin was raised there as well—so if you two wish to stay after the summit, I won’t chain you to me.  But whenever you are present in Wakanda or with my court, I ask that you stand at my side.  Shuri has told me of the hardships you’ve faced, and I won’t blame you for your actions under Hydra.  This isn’t a punishment.  I wouldn’t do anything but consider it payment for the materials Shuri insisted on using for your new arms.”  Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Arms, plural?  Is she hiding a transforming beast arm somewhere from me?”

“Well, armor, weapons, and arm then.  You knew what I meant,” the king huffed.  “N’Jadaka is getting his own, too.  I would not put it past certain council members to try to finish the act you prevented.  This summit will mean a lot—we have never sent a full retinue to other kingdoms before.”

Bucky nodded. 

“And, with that, we pack immediately.  The capital of Scyld is a long way to go, and Shuri stops at every market she can to make fun of primitive technology and buy new clothes.”

* * *

 

_Your mother’s name was Sarah._

He looked on at the memorial statue they passed.  It was a good likeness of Steve, though Bucky looked quite a bit young in this one.  _Dammit._ They even had the crookedness of Steve’s nose from so many lost fights, yet Bucky—well, he didn’t exactly look his age now either, at any rate. 

It really was a shame Steve was dead.  The world hardly offered such good people so often, people so willing to put themselves on the line. 

_You used to put rags in your shoes._

Always too small, too cold, too frail.  Not until Erksine got ahold of him, then—then everything seemed to fit him better.  Big temper, big muscles.  A stronger set of lungs for that heart of his. 

_“ . . . Stark men are made of iron.”_

And Bucky had heard the rumors in the villages once they’d crossed into Scyld—that Sir Iron and other warriors had taken down Baron Lehnsherr, that the Queen herself had knighted them all. 

The Iron Knight was turning out to be quite the legend himself.  Bucky thought of the wild eyes reflecting the light blue glow of the heart. 

_“You look rather like you’re made flesh and bone to me, sir Stark.”_

And he knew about Tony Stark, too, if the Princess and the King were anything to go by—a man like any other, brash and wild and willing to speak if he knew he was right (and often, he was). 

_Two of a kind.  Looks like you have a type, Barnes._

Beck, his wolf, huffed beside him.  It sounded like a laugh.

* * *

 

Tony grit his teeth through the entire introduction of Asgard’s court.  Loki was a sneaky bastard, both literally and figuratively, and if there was anyone that might find him out, it was the snake. 

“And King Thor would like to spar with the Queen’s Avengers,” said Loki, amused.  The king’s laugh bellowed through the hall like rolling thunder. 

“Ah, yes.  I could do with some more powerful opponents,” he grinned and hefted his war hammer onto his shoulder. “Who is first?”

* * *

 

The king of Asgard left them all panting and sore, wincing.  Only Steve seemed to be moving relatively normally, though he was sporting a swelling lump on his temple. 

No armor could keep Tony from being utterly exhausted in facing the king in a match. 

The Asgardians, of course, were known for two things whenever they visited: fighting and feasting.  It was only a blink away and then suddenly they had their cooks joining Scyld’s to create enough food to feed an army or two.  Queen Carol ordered the ballroom to be cleared for dancing after they were done eating.  The fire was warm as the food in their bellies—he’d managed to sneak away to eat while they feasted together. 

* * *

 

And now the ball.  Tony stood off to the side as people danced—no one would likely want to deal with his clanking on the floor, and he was having a bad few days when it came to breathing regularly, so he didn’t want to risk it after very much risking it with Thor. 

“Impressive, Sir Iron.  Very few people can keep up with my brother for so long,” said Loki, leaning against the wall next to him.  Tony tried not to jump, but the damned prince was silent wherever he walked. 

“I’m sure that you’re perfectly capable, or you would be a walking bruise,” Tony replied. 

“Who says I’m not?” chuckled the prince.  “Magic does wonders.”  Right.  Sorcerers.  Loki, he would begrudgingly admit, was a master. 

_As if you’re not looking up dragon magic’s capabilities every chance you get._

“Sir Iron, would you do me the honor of revealing your face?  Your name?” Loki asked.  Tony blinked. 

“Absolutely not.  I swore an oath that I would not until the Marquis Stark was safe.” 

“Perhaps a change of heart?” Loki asked, eyes glowing as he pressed a finger to his breastplate.  He frowned when nothing happened. 

“Why haven’t—”

“Perhaps I don’t have one, your highness,” Tony said lightly, “Or perhaps your performance is simply . . . lacking.” Loki snarled at the insinuation, and a pulse of light and cold air blasted from him.  Tony blinked.  

“And what was that supposed to do?”  Loki’s lips twisted. 

“I believe I perform just fine, Sir Iron.  Perhaps if you haven’t a heart, you won’t be compelled.  Still, the rest of the guests might find themselves dancing with someone they especially care for tonight.” 

* * *

 

If Steve could only figure out where Sir Iron was—

The queen really was generous, offering such fine clothes and armor to him.  His new armor was cut quite like his old—a blue cowl for his face and neck, a fine red-and-silver scabbard.  But it was all a bit darker, sturdier material.  He definitely preferred it.  But perhaps the reminders were what made him so restless tonight.

Which was why he was looking for the masked man.  The knight confused him, sometimes, but he enjoyed his company.  There was an easiness between them that wasn’t the case with anyone else on the Queen’s Avengers. 

“Have you seen Sir Iron?” he asked Clint, who dancing with an exasperated Coulson. 

“I think he stalked past Prince Loki earlier,” Clint said. 

“Thanks.” You’d _think_ the shiny red armor might be hard to miss, and yet—

“Ah, sorry,” somone said.  He blinked, and there Sir Iron was.  “There might have been an incident, and it may have been my fault.”  Steve blinked. 

“What?”

“I might have insulted Prince Loki, and now everyone is compelled to dance with a particular someone,” he groused.  Steve chuckled. 

“Never a dull moment with you, huh, Shellhead?”  Sir Iron blinked. 

“Shellhead?”

“Well, your armor—all the scale maille, then the helmet is just—it all shines like abalone,” he said, folding his hands lamely.  _God you’re an idiot, Rogers._ But the Iron Knight was fond in his response. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he teased back.  “Well, who are you finding yourself compelled to dance with?  Because I’d be happy to lead you to them so I can find Loki and stop this ridiculousness.”  Steve frowned.  So Sir Iron hadn’t been compelled to dance with him in turn.  Did that mean that he was the only one?

“It’s you—what, you don’t—”

“I’m not affected by Loki’s magic in general,” he explained.  “But I imagine, if I was, I’d have been looking for you, too.”  Steve smiled, the knot in his heart loosening. 

“Maybe we can dance and find Loki at the same time?” he offered.  A twitch from beneath the visor—a smile?

“I’d be honored, Captain.”

* * *

The Wakandan court was arriving the next day, so it was a lucky thing that Loki had ended his spell and even conjured a hangover potion for those that had drunk a bit too much.  (It was not luck.  It was a combination of Sir Iron and a very angry Clint Barton who simultaneously danced with Steve and Coulson while repeatedly making passes at slapping or stepping on Loki’s toes in elaborate moves.  There was one in particular that made Steve marvel at how quick-witted Sir Iron was, and how flexible he—the _armor_ must be.)

They arranged themselves at the palace gates, because while Asgard visiting was a common thing, Wakanda often kept to themselves. 

Steve stood aside, content to watch from far away.  The Wakandan court was vibrant and dignified.  T’Challa stood at the center of it all flanked by two guards—a sorcerer with a white wolf familiar, and a warrior in glinting golden armor with a leopard at his side.  Both of the sorcerers were in masks that matched their familiars respectively in silver and gold.  King T’Challa inclined his head towards Thor and Carol, his panther mimicking the motion. 

“It is good to see you both again,” he called out. 

“And you as well,” Queen Carol replied.  “Your Majesty, would you care to dine with Thor and I this afternoon while your court settles in?”

“That would be perfect,” he replied, smile shining white.  The Wakandans scattered into the crowds, and the king followed the other monarchs.  One sorcerer followed him, while the other seemed to spot something else in the crowd and followed that interest. 

Steve frowned.  Something about the loping gait of the wolf sorcerer—he shook his head.  How would he find something familiar from Wakanda?  He’d never set foot in the kingdom. 

* * *

Bucky stalked towards Natalia. 

“What are you _doing here_?” he hissed in her language.  She whipped around and blinked. 

“Sasha?”

“Not my name, apparently.  It’s all pretty much back now,” he tapped his head.  She glanced between him and his wolf. 

“What are you doing with the Wakandan court?”

“It is a strange story,” he chuckled, “Not one worth repeating right here.  And you?”

“I was in good graces with the captain of the archers here.  He allowed me to stay, and the Queen recognized my abilities.  I’m Lady Romanov now,” she preened.  “One of her Majesty’s chosen knights.”  He raised his eyebrows. 

“Look at us.  Assassins turned royal guards.”

“There’s something very backwards about the world,” she agreed before slipping away.  Though she hadn’t said anything threatening, Bucky was on edge, glancing around.  Beck was clearly picking up on how he was feeling.  She growled at passerby, giving him a wide circle of space as he stalked through the crowds. 

Erik had run off with T’Challa and Nakia for something or another.  Shuri was already chatting with a squire from Scyld.  He frowned and decided to find something to eat. 

How many missions had started with him going invisibly through a crowd?  He certainly couldn’t do that with Beck at his side and the fancy Wakandan armor.  He didn’t pull down the hood, despite how that would have improved his view of the land.  He didn’t _need_ to.  There was no one that was going to end up dead here.  There was no ice to return to. 

Gods, but he felt dizzy. 

Beck leaned into him, and her warmth was welcome—the curses he’d been under, after all, had been so damn cold.  He took a few slow, deep breaths and found a corner merchant that was selling fruits.  The little old man spoke to the customer in front of him jerkingly, with a thick, familiar accent. 

He nodded and asked for some plums—the old man blinked in surprise at hearing his native language, no doubt.  Bucky smiled and thanked him. 

“Ah, yes,” a voice said nearby.  “That will do nicely.  Tell me, how long does a proper tunic take?” and it was ice down his back. 

Hydra was _here._   What the hell?  He knew the voice—how many orders had he taken from Pierce?  Beck whimpered. 

“Easy, girl,” he told her, and turned them away from the voice, walking, not running. 

Perhaps someone was going to end up dead after all, he mused as he forced his breathing to slow against his pounding heart. 

* * *

They’d made it to the training field where a lot of knights—as well as the monarchs—were milling about. 

“I confess I don’t want to continue the sparring matches from before,” Thor said, “But I could do with some shows of bravery.”

“Perhaps some mock duels?” suggested Queen Carol.  “A chosen warrior in each court.  It certainly would be fun.”

“If White Wolf could battle with a champion from Scyld, and N’Jadaka a warrior from Asgard, I’d be amenable to see that,” offered T’Challa.  He paused.  “He will _not_ live up to his familiar’s name in that fight, naturally.”

“You ruin all the fun, cousin,” Erik said.  Killmonger growled playfully at his feet. 

“Fury, who is one of your best men?” Carol called. 

“Sir Rogers,” he smiled, and sent the man in full Captain regalia forward. 

“He certainly looks the part,” grumbled Erik.  Bucky frowned.  The man bore a striking resemblance to Steve as well.  _Go on, salt in the wound. Remind me of what I’ve lost._ He shook his head.  _It’s not his fault he looks like Steve and that I’ve lived this long._

“My brother, would you like to spar?” Thor asked.  Loki’s mouth curled into a grin of pleasure. 

“Absolutely.”  In a flash, the two leapt at one another. 

Thor and T’Challa glanced at one another as N’Jadaka and Loki sparred.  Both kings sighed, exasperated, and sat back to watch the display that was definitely going to leave them both a little bloody and a lot sore.  Like a feral cat fight, the two snarled and slashed at one another. 

“Loki’s knives are a gift from me.  He rather enjoys stabbing things and people,” Thor admitted, “Including myself.”

“N’Jadaka takes every opportunity to slap me hard on the back where he last stabbed me,” agreed T’Challa.  Thor hummed in sympathy. 

“You two have issues,” muttered the Iron Knight.  Bucky chuckled.  _Them and I both, Stark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, chilling in Wakanda, accidentally bonding with a legendary symbol of their mythology: Oops  
> T'Challa: HOW?!  
> Also Bucky: I realize more with every passing moment just how gay I am.
> 
> Enter Thor: Whaddup fight me my dudes!
> 
> Loki: hey why don't you let me see under that armor  
> Tony: NOPE he’s a sneaky snake and I am out  
> Loki: *visibly flustered about rejection* How about now? *casts spell so people dance with their present crushes*  
> Steve, immediately: Where's Iron Man?
> 
> Bucky: I somehow gained the absolute trust of a royal leader now here I am  
> Natasha: lol same 
> 
> *Killmonger and Loki fight each other*  
> Thor, whose back has at least twenty scars in a row from assassination attempts from Loki: My brother is so stabby. Isn't it adorable?  
> T'Challa, still smarting from the sixth coup attempt from N’Jadaka yesterday: Mood


	5. Courtly Espionage and Matchmaking (Are Equally Difficult Endeavors)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curses and Relics   
> Curses differ from certain regular spells, as they are meant to enact a change on a particular person or place for an indefinite amount of time, rather than throwing short bursts of energy to make changes in the world. Curses are generally malicious, because they work against normal processes of energy and life, rather than speeding or redirecting nature as it is.   
> In order to keep a curse going, it must constantly be fed magic energy, much like golems, except more ravenous. Relics are pools of magic energy that sorcerers can dump into to direct and feed a curse without draining themselves. Relics tend to be crafted objects or crystals. To break them, powerful sorcerers can overload them quickly with energy.

The next battle was Steve and the White Wolf.  The masked warrior stepped away from his king to the center of the floor. 

“I warn you, I won’t go easy,” he said, raising both shield and sword.  The sorcerer calmed his familiar and stepped forward, a wicked hunting knife in one hand. 

“And neither will I.”  In something practically choreographed like a dance, they leapt at one another as one. 

The first thing to go was one of the Wolf’s sleeves—he tore it off, probably as a diversion, to reveal a metal left arm. 

 _That’s the Winter Sorcerer.  That’s—that’s James!_   Tony would have worked himself into a full panic if he wasn’t concentrating so much on the fight.  The arm was new—definitely work of the Wakandans, like the rest of the armor.  It was sleek and light and made of _something_ that Tony desperately would love to work with himself. 

(He’d like to be ravaged with kisses by the man, to be honest, while he worked on that arm.  And Steve.  Maybe at the same time. He could multitask!)  He and Cap were even in all ways—meeting each other blow for blow.  James’s magic met Steve’s strength at every turn, and their blades clanged together deafeningly.  Steve hadn’t brought out his shield, though, and James hadn’t used his left arm at all during the fight.

Until they did.  One particular slash left their swords in the ground, and then they were wrestling and kicking and running at one another.  It was insanity. 

They’d both backed off in order to gain their breath when Steve blew any sort of cover he had and threw his shield.  And James _caught it_ with his left hand, the silver glinting brightly.  The crowd murmured at a dull roar, realizing what this meant.  James was standing there, frozen with the shield in his hand for a moment.  Tony couldn’t see any sort of expression on his face (the mask wasn’t exactly helpful here, no matter how protective).  Then he threw the shield back at Steve, who caught it dazedly. 

And he shrunk it back to a star before running headlong at James.  They fought again—it was a dangerous balance between some sort of performance they’d put together beforehand and a ferocious animal fight.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

And then Steve got off a good hit, and the mask came off as James went tumbling.  He froze as James got up. 

“Bucky?!” he gasped.  Who the hell was—

Oh. 

 _I like to think that the more people that know who Bucky was, the more his memory will get to live on._ James was the Companion?  The terrible irony was swirling through his head as _the curse of Hydra controlled the Winter Sorcerer.  Hydra, started by the tyrant Red Skull himself.  Who Steve had fought and killed.  After Bucky had not-died._

Tony stared as Steve tore off his cowl, eyes wide as he heaved shallow breaths. 

“Hey, Stevie,” James said, a bewildered smirk on his face.  “It’s been a while.”  And Tony knew those looks as they rushed to embrace one another. 

 _Stupid_ , he cursed as he watched the two of them stare in awe at one another.  To be so charmed by James, and to fall so easily for Steve.  Of course.  Of _course_. 

“What the _hell_ just happened, Rogers?” Fury demanded.  Steve grinned through watery eyes. 

“Might I introduce James Barnes—Bucky,” he said.  “The stories call him the Companion, but according to my understanding, he’s made friends in Wakanda and they call him White Wolf.  We clearly have some catching up to do.”

Huh.  He’d inadvertently called James the right name.  That would almost sound like some sort of romance tale if he wasn’t staring at the biggest romantic reunion he’d seen in his life. 

No bitter jealousy managed to grip him, though.  Maybe it was because he was a little enamored with both of them, or maybe it was because he didn’t want to ruin anything.  After all, the awe in their eyes was something of perfection—Achilles and Patroklos reunited after an eternity. 

He was just sad he’d never get to hold either of them as close as they clutched one another in that moment.  Steve was sobbing; James was laughing in disbelief. 

* * *

 

Tony had tried—quite honestly, in fact—to figure out who’d sold him out.  Hours of checking records, of seeing who was saying what.  He’d spoken to Rhodey about possibilities, but the man just shook his head. 

“It could be anyone, Tones.  Except maybe the visitors—I know the Queen meant well, but everyone’s on high alert because of them, so no one’s going to act strange.  At least Rogers and Barnes gave you chaos to work behind,” he shrugged. 

Indeed, the court had been a mess as they tried to secretly track their movements.  No one had tried to make a claim for the Stark Estate. 

Pepper, Obadiah, and Rhodey were all in charge of it in his stead, though his golems were the ones to maintain the place. 

He grimaced to think that they’d been alone since his disappearance. 

* * *

 

Natasha was a bit of help, at least.  She revealed that many traveling bandits and foreign armies had possession of weapons from his forge and thousands of near replicas. 

His rage at the discovery left his throat and chest heated beyond his comfort levels. 

“Are you having any luck finding him?” she asked. 

“If I can find the ones that kidnapped him in the first place, whoever paid for it, I can trace him,” Tony said with a nod. 

“We’ll help you,” Clint insisted.  “Don’t make it a one-man mission.”

“Stark is my responsibility, as are the people that took him,” he argued. 

“We don’t want to lose you.  Who else will agree to be my hero when I drop from the tower’s ledge?”

“Frankly, I don’t enjoy the act myself.  You could die,” sighed Tony. 

“So could you, unless you’re a god under there.  Or a troll.” Tony snorted. 

“Just a man, Clint.”

* * *

 

They’d spent hours together in Steve’s quarters recounting what had happened.  Steve grew more appalled that he hadn’t come to Bucky’s rescue—Bucky grew more irritated at Steve’s lack of self-preservation.  Finally, they came to the present, more or less, and Bucky grinned. 

“The Iron Knight—you’re quite smitten, aren’t you?” he asked, smirk promising mischief. 

“I—well, yes,” Steve admitted.  “He’s always so brash and brave.  He challenges me.  Between Peter and him, I think I actually made a life here.”

“You and I both.  I’ve met him—he’s actually the one that sent me on my way to Wakanda and got me healed.”  Steve blinked.  

“Really?  That makes it—he gave me _you_ back, Buck.  By the gods.  Are you sure it was him?”

“I wouldn’t lie about someone that gave me my life back, Rogers.”  His voice was sharp. 

“I’d never accuse you of that, Buck, just—if fate has Sir Iron bringing you back, bringing you and I both back, in a way—of course I’m smitten.  He’s a hero.  But never think I don’t still love you—” Bucky snorted. 

“Of course not, you absolute idiot.  You’ve proven that with the display after our fight.”  Steve rolled his eyes and shoved at Bucky’s shoulder.  

“Right, right.  But he’s devoted to the Marquis Stark and finding him.  Frankly I’m not sure if it’s worth it—I’ve heard stories of Stark as a warmonger, calling him the Merchant of Death.  But Peter’s said nothing but good things about the man, and—”

Bucky put a hand up to stop him and hummed. 

“Do you not know who the Iron Knight is?” he asked carefully. 

“No one does but Rhodes.”

“And me,” Bucky said, “I was traveling.  Helped him out briefly, as he was putting together the armor for his escape.  Steve, the Knight _is_ Stark.”  Steve’s eyes bugged. 

“What?!”

“Tony Stark, yeah?  Well, King T’Challa owed him a favor.  I helped him out while he was still captive and saw him putting the armor on.”  He grimaced.  “I probably wasn’t meant to tell you.  He’s probably trying to figure out who got him captured in the first place.”

“He said the armor helps him survive a poisoned wound,” Steve said.  Bucky’s eyes widened. 

“Poisoned?  Steve—that magical core on his armor?  That’s a dragon heart.  In his actual chest.  He’s either dying of that poison or taking the change.”  Steve’s eyes glinted. 

A dragon—somehow that just seemed to fit all the more with Sir-Iron-Stark. 

_A Stark dragon._

“Bucky!” Steve gasped.  “Howard was a Stark!  Is Tony—”

“His son, though I don’t think anyone knows,” Bucky said, but his eyes flicked down to his metal hand.  “Steve, I—I killed Howard.  Under Hydra’s curses, I.”  He clenched his fist. 

Gods. 

“And it figures, right?  That we find a sweetheart together, but I murdered his parents,” he said bitterly.  Steve frowned. 

“That wasn’t your fault, Buck.  Compulsion charms like that?  You wouldn’t have stood a chance.  No one would have.”  Bucky scoffed. 

“You would have.”  Steve would have punched him if he didn’t genuinely believe that. 

“If they broke you, Buck, I guarantee I would have gone down too.  My mission against Red Skull was suicide, and I went because of that, not in spite of it.” 

Bucky’s hands twitched.  He was silent. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, Rogers,” he said tiredly.  Steve winced. 

“Not if I can help it.  Not again.”  Bucky clasped Steve’s hands in his own in apology. 

“Me either, Steve.  ‘Till the end of the line, remember?”  He leaned in close. 

_‘Till the end of the line, Bucky had said, pointing at the vast horizon.  The one that could never end, never be reached._

_Steve flushed, because no one had taken interest in stickly little Rogers until Bucky.  No one felt it was worth it to keep up with the angry boy that couldn’t breathe right but still raised his fists at every opportunity._

“’Till the end of the line,” Steve agreed, closing the distance. 

* * *

 

“I could help the search, you know,” Bucky muttered.  Tony turned around. 

“I’m going to put _bells_ on you, I swear it,” he grumbled.  “Jam—Bucky.  What do you mean?  You know what’s going on.”

“Yes, well, I certainly could help track down the kidnappers.  I taught Natalia most everything she knows.  I also want to talk to you in private, if you’ll allow it.”

“You’ve seen me with no sleep frantically putting armor together in a cave.  You can see me for a few minutes alone,” Tony said.  Without seeing his eyes, Bucky wondered if he was happy to have help or angry that one more person knew his secret. 

When they’d gotten into a private chamber and locked the door behind them, Tony took off his helmet.  He looked tired. 

“I know there are Hydra followers here,” Bucky began, “And that they dealt with the Ten Rings.  I might be able to convince them to give me information.  But I have to apologize to you immediately.”  Tony frowned.  _Gods, don’t hate me.  Or at least don’t kill me._

“When I was the Winter Sorcerer, I had a thousand quests I was cursed to do.  Hydra had relics all over to oppress and control me, to keep me from remembering a thing about who I was.  There were only two things—icy sleep and a quest to complete.  One of my missions was to kill a dragon—a specific one—Marquis Howard Stark.”  Tony’s expression darkened like a storm cloud. 

“Hydra used you to kill my father—a dragon?” he shook his head.  “My father wasn’t a dragon.”

“He was.  He was a friend of mine, before.  He forged Steve’s shield with his own breath—I swear it.” 

“Bucky,” he growled, and the blue light from his chest flared brighter.  “If Hydra killed my mother, too—”

“I did,” he said, “I was ordered to kill anyone with him at the time.  For something in his hoard—a spellbook, I think.”

Tony shook his head.  The growling continued, a low rumble from his chest.  Bucky wondered if he knew it was even happening. 

“I’m going to kill them right along with the bastard that paid the Ten Rings to assassinate me.  Every last one of them,” he said. 

“I already destroyed a lot of their hiding places with them inside,” Bucky said.  Was that a pleased sound among all the growling?  He thought back to the cave.  The snarling cat analogy was less accurate—perhaps a tiger.

“I won’t die before they do,” he said.  Bucky frowned. 

“You plannin’ on dying sometime soon?”

“The dragon heart, Barnes, keep up.  You’re the one who told me it was possible it could poison me.”

“Yeah, well, your father was a dragon.  I think you’ll be fine.  You’ll have to adjust to the change, but—”

“Then why is my skin turning black around it?  Why do I feel weaker, not stronger?”

“No one knows anything about dragons anymore, I swear,” Bucky groused.  “It’s likely your own nature warring with the foreign dragon’s heart.  Do you feel like you’re constantly running a fever?  Limbs heavy?”

“Are you telling me that I’ll sprout _scales_?” he shrieked, which was undignified but probably totally necessary, given the new information. “How do you know so much about this, then?  How do I stop it, end it?” Tony demanded. 

“It’s just a stage of growth—you’ll transform into a dragon fully, and the switch will become easy, innate.  I know a lot because Howard babbled endlessly about it while he worked on our armor and weapons.”

Tony raked a hand through his hair. 

“Gods,” he said wryly, “It would figure he told you all about it.  I never had any clue.”  Bucky pursed his lips, not finding a response that would improve the situation. _I would have knocked some sense into him._ That would be a disaster of a conversation. 

“So how do you plan on finding more out?  I can’t get information since I’m clearly affiliated with the Queen as an Avenger.  I’m too visible.”  Bucky grinned wolfishly. 

“I’ll come to them as the Winter Sorcerer.  They’ll scramble to give me the most information they can.”

* * *

 

He came to them dull-eyed and forced them aside into empty rooms.  Pierce was the first to give him anything useful. 

“Master,” he said shortly, “has ordered me to act under the name of Barnes.  I am to gather information on the summit.  What are this sect’s plans?”

“ . . . _Ferdrinc_ (soldier),” he said.  Bucky tensed.  But no blankness overtook him, no cold from the curse. 

“ _Gea_ ,” he grunted (yes).  Pierce looked satisfied. 

“We have been in contact with Stane.  After the murder of Howard Stark, we lost track of the spellwork we had originally wanted to take from him.  Stane, in turn, wanted to either kill the younger Stark for his position or leech off of his expertise.  With that bothersome Iron Knight, it’s difficult to say whether anything will come of trying to find Stark. Staging his death and dealing with the aftermath will be easier.”

Bucky’s mind was flying miles per minute as the pieces fell together.  Staging a death, ransacking the Stark archives for everything useful, turning the perfect, huge private estate into a Hydra paradise. 

Not if he had a choice in the matter.  He nodded along, taking note of Pierce’s planned times and choices, and moved on. 

* * *

 

Tony frowned as Bucky told him he’d caught the culprit.  Too many prying ears might catch them and try to turn it on them before they could act.  

“Look—would you want to meet outside the castle, so we can talk freely?”  Bucky and Steve glanced at one another. 

“A picnic tomorrow?  Something secluded, we could ride out a bit for it,” suggested Bucky. 

‘That sounds perfect,” Steve smiled.  “I’m looking forward to finally looking you in the eyes tomorrow, Shellhead.”

“That’s Sir Iron, Captain,” he said, teasing. 

“Whatever you say, Shellhead,” he repeated, laughing back.  Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Do I need to give you two a moment?”  The both of them spluttered. 

“I—no—”

“I’d never intrude,” Tony said immediately. 

“It wouldn’t be intruding at all; I certainly don’t mind,” Bucky leered.  Steve blushed.  They both smiled warmly at Tony and returned to their chambers. 

Tony looked around, dazed, heart pounding. 

What in _hell_ —

He tried explaining their strange behavior to Rhodey, who had just returned with Jarvis and the promise that some messengers would be bringing news on the other, simpler golems’ progress as they learned.  Rhodey just laughed at him, like the horrible friend he was. 

Jarvis was worse. 

“Sir, it seems they were simply being flirtatious.”

“But _why?_ ”

“Sir, if you do not know what a flirtation is, then I have vastly overestimated your regular nightly encounters beginning some fifteen years ago—”

“You’re not _helping_ ,” he grumbled. 

* * *

 

Natasha glanced at the various Avengers and visitors.  Banner had begun a strange friendship with King Thor.  She’d finally knocked some sense into Barton and Coulson—she smirked at how they leaned into one another.  Loki’s dancing spell had helped for sure.  Queen Carol seemed content to oversee everything from a distance, as did King T’Challa’s and King Thor’s generals, Okoye and Valkyrie. 

She could relate to just wanting to watch. 

While everyone was comfortably chatting in the warmth of the hall, she sipped wine and sighed.  There had to be a way to find Stark’s traitor—her position as the Queen’s Black Widow had demolished much of the darkness left in her image.  It had once been a burden, but a useful one. 

The Iron Knight was turning furtively towards Captain Rogers and Sasha. 

Another hurdle—Barnes and Rogers were clearly enamored, but she’d seen the fondness between Rogers and Sir Iron.  It was practically palpable. 

Both of her distractions, subterfuge and meddling in the idiots’ romance, were overshadowed by an assignment from Fury: find what she could from Prince Loki, who might know something about the surge of Chitauri demons in the countryside.  After all, he was an extremely powerful sorcerer and had just traveled through the most infested areas.  But the prince was enigmatic and haughty, and there was good reason Thor had talked about him stabbing the king in the back—if the stories were correct, it was literal and figurative all at once. 

“It’s quite a disaster waiting to happen,” murmured Lady Potts next to her.  “All the friendly banter.  The fangs haven’t come out yet from the dissenters.”

“Lulling them into a sense of security.  Are you ready, my Lady?” Natasha asked. 

“If I’m not, I’ll certainly look like I am either way.  They’ll never know the difference,” her teeth flashed a bright white. 

Natasha nodded, glancing at the other women that stood back and watched the others in the warm laughter, basking in the sunny firelight while it lasted. 

“That’s our way,” she agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve v. Bucky happens  
> Tony @ Bucky: Too Hot!  
> Tony @ Steve: Hot damn!  
> Bucky's Reveal Happens  
> Tony: Who the hell is Bucky?  
> Bucky: THAT IS MY LINE  
> Steve: My buddy, my pal, you know, the one I'm in love with.  
> Tony @ the powers that be: okay first of all: bitch
> 
> Tony: I need to do this alone!  
> Clint: Nah fam we gotchu.
> 
> Bucky: You like Iron Man? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Steve: Okay yes but he clearly likes Tony Stark and I don’t want to be a homewrecker.  
> Bucky: Boy do I have news for you
> 
> Bucky: I killed your parents and told Steve it's you I'm really sorry about all this.  
> Tony: *is reasonable about the mind control thing and rages at Hydra*  
> Bucky: god you're hot need help with that revenge plot?  
> Tony: Yeah okay fair I need help also might be dying—  
> Bucky: Nah you're just a dragon.
> 
> Natasha: Look at all these dumbasses and their UST and look at the powerful beautiful ladies waiting to strike.   
> Pepper, sipping metaphorical and literal tea: Shit's about to go down.  
> Natasha: You right


	6. Trial for His Own Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chitauri  
> In wastelands and the wilderness, the veil between our world and others is thin. Demons of malice, the Chitauri, tear rifts in these places when given a power source to work from. Anyone who’s touched a rift or attempted to pass to the other side has burned to a husk. The demons often resemble creatures of this world, but with far more destructive strength. The Red Skull’s armies often attracted Chitauri in their wake. The rarest kind, the Leviathan, are terrifying monsters that can level cities. No one has survived a Leviathan attack—people have only watched from a distance as the path of destruction is created. The humanoid warriors are vicious creatures, and grotesque spiders and monsters of all sizes cause far more problems than even the most powerful bandits.   
> No one knows why the Chitauri attack. It seems like random chance, complete misfortune.

After the banquet, Tony had rushed to his quarters, apparently seized by an idea for improving his armor.  Bucky glanced at Steve, who looked as frustrated as fond. 

“Give it an hour or two,” he said.  “He’s done this quite a few times—as long as he gets started on the idea enough, we should let him work.  Then we can drag him away from the workbench so he gets some gods-be-damned _sleep_.”  Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“You have experience dragging him to bed, Stevie?” 

Steve, of course, blushed. 

“He did the same thing after we escorted some ladies from the tavern one night; I overheard Rhodes trying to talk him into sleeping.  I found him passed out the next morning on a bench.”

Indeed, a few hours later they entered the workshop as Tony was carving runes on the inside of his helm, a manic gleam in his eye. 

“I think that’s enough,” Steve said, amused. 

“No, no, just—it’s nearly done,” Tony muttered.  “Look.  Jarvis?” The small, silver golem nodded. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Take the Mark over.” The little thing pulsed with blue light before collapsing.  Then, suddenly, the suit’s runes all lit up. 

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis’s voice said quietly from the helm as the pieces assembled themselves into place.  Steve stared, wide-eyed.  It was one thing to cast a spell on another object to transfer a sleeping golem’s consciousness—or at least to transfer orders into a new object.  Tony had just directed a complex golem, one nearing human intelligence, to transfer _itself._

“That’s amazing, Tony,” he said softly.  “But I do think you should probably get to bed.”

“We’ll be having a talk about these golems of yours,” agreed Bucky, “And I can’t wait.  But first, sleep.”  Tony blinked slowly a few times before he let himself get nudged to bed. 

“Thank you, Captain Rogers, Master Barnes,” Jarvis said as they returned.  “Sir needs a reminder on occasion that he is not a golem himself and requires things like food and sleep.”

“We’d be happy to remind him,” Bucky said cheerfully. 

“Good.  Do know, however, that now that Sir has allowed me access to the suit, should you hurt him, I will be forced to act.”  Steve blinked before smiling. 

“Understood,” he said. 

* * *

 

They rode out a fair distance into the north woods before stopping for the picnic.  Bucky checked the area a few times from the trees to be sure there would be no interruptions, and then dropped down next to Steve.

“Gah!  You’re worse than Barton,” grumbled Tony. 

“You take that back,” Bucky said, amused.  Tony took off his helmet to glare at the sorcerer.  Steve blinked.  Tony Stark looked different from the paintings he’d seen. 

The Stark of the paintings was aloof, lavish and amused.  Flatter, if the pun could be excused.  Others’ descriptions also flattened him—genius, rich, indulgent Marquis Stark. 

Oh, he was definitely extravagant.  Steve was sure of that—who else would make and wear _red and gold armor_ and walk into a fight without a sword?

But there was more to him than the bluster and the shine.  He grinned at the warmth Tony exuded, the perfectly manicured facial hair.  It fit. 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally see you, Marquis Stark,” Steve smiled. 

 And that _blush_.  Gods, but Tony would be the death of him. 

They set down a blanket, tying up their horses.  Bucky’s wolf curled up alongside the horses, content to sleep. 

The red knight frowned as Bucky began unpacking their food. 

“That’s quite a lot,” he said, raising his eyebrows. 

“I’m afraid Steve and I need a lot of food to maintain our strength,” he said.  He turned and smiled.

Gods, Steve had missed that smile that promised kisses in the dark.

* * *

 

There was clearly something strange going on with Steve and Bucky. 

“If you’d like to call me James, I certainly wouldn’t mind,” Bucky grinned.  “After all, you named me that.”  Tony blushed, and Steve raised his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean, he named you?”

“Back when I still couldn’t remember anything and we met, he introduced himself. I couldn’t, so he figured, since I helped him, that I was his best friend. Rhodes already has that title, but his first name is James, so he found a loophole to keep himself from becoming a liar—that James is his best friend.”  Steve downright _cooed_ at the notion.  Tony’s face was growing warmer with every comment. 

“Well then, James,” Tony said, “You should also take the honor of naming me, because you’re the one that called me the Iron Knight.” Ha, now Bucky had a flush high on his cheekbones.  But he was smiling openly all the same. 

“Shellhead, Buck, stop teasing,” Steve chided. 

“Right, Cap.”

“Sure, Stevie.”  They continued eating the breads and cheeses first before opening up the apples and berries that Steve had collected.  Three blushing heroes on a picnic.  Tony was going to _melt_ with it.  He coughed. 

“This was really nice of you two to invite me—but are you sure you don’t want some time to yourselves as well?  I mean—”

They blinked, confused. 

“Tony,” Steve said slowly, “No.  We wanted to spend time with you and speak freely.  That was the whole point.”

“Right.  Any luck with the mission, James?”

His expression turned thunderous.  He relayed his conversation with Pierce.

“It was the Earl of Flores.  Stane.”

“The _fucker_ ,” Tony swore, “I’d call down all the gods on that man.  I trusted him,” he sneered. 

“Believe me, Tony, I’m ready to take him down.  Just say the word,” Steve said. 

“No.  I’ve got to be the one to do it.  It’s _me_ he’s wronged.  I appreciate the help, truly, but ultimately, this is my fight, my household that he’s wronged.”  Bucky nodded. 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t accept our help on the side,” Bucky suggested.  Tony sighed. 

“You’ve got me there, Barnes.” Bucky tilted his head. 

“Tony, your heart flared brighter when you found out.  And your eyes were glowing.”  Tony flinched. 

“They’ve been doing that.  Quite monstrous, isn’t it?” he said wryly.  Bucky frowned. 

* * *

 

His throat had gone dry, but not from fear or disgust or anything of the sort. 

“It was actually very hot,” he admitted.  Tony blinked. 

“ _What?_ ”  Steve hummed in agreement. 

“You’re quite powerful, Tony, even without your magic settling in yet.  It’s really quite gorgeous, the heart and the eyes—like something out of a star.”  Bucky nodded.  Steve always had had a way of explaining the beauty of things—never really helped him work with people, but it definitely worked on Tony now, if his embarrassed glare was any indication. 

“But not as gorgeous as the man,” Bucky continued.  Tony was clearly bewildered by the barrage of compliments. 

“What?”  _Ugh_ , he thought.  _I really do have a type.  Self-deprecating beautiful little loudmouths with hearts of gold._ He glanced at Steve, who smiled and lifted his chin in a tiny nod. 

So Bucky removed all the mystery and kissed Tony. 

* * *

 

If there had been a coherent thought staying still long enough for Tony to examine it, it might have been a kind of inner screeching.  As it was, the only real thoughts he had were flitting sensations and worries and points about what he ought to do with the information about Stane. Everything was a whirlwind. 

_Bucky was, indeed, a whirlwind.  Witty and a force of nature and beautiful and potentially dangerous and_

_Oh, gods, Steve._

Tony tore himself away, glancing at the two of them, brow furrowed.  But before he could get a word in, Steve stepped forward, putting himself in Bucky’s place.  Bucky slipped around him to embrace him from behind. 

It was certainly less sudden, but Tony wasn’t any less shocked.  If Bucky was a whirlwind, Steve was sunlight itself—it stung (just the right kind of sting, with a playful bite rather than an annoying burn) to confront directly in its intensity, but there was an inevitable constancy that came with him.  A kind warmth, inescapable. 

Once Steve had pulled away—just enough for them both to breathe—his mind began to focus on one thought at a time again. 

“You two—”

“We’ve both become quite attached to you, my lord.” Steve smiled, one hand still cupping his face.  He felt the rumbling of Bucky’s chuckle behind him as he leaned in even closer, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Stevie’s right,” he murmured.  “Downright besotted, you might call us.” And if _that_ didn’t leave his body and mind both roaring like a waterfall, well.

“It’s a very good thing that I’m ‘downright besotted’ with the two of you, then,” he managed to say before turning to kiss Bucky again, pulling Steve close into their embrace. 

* * *

 

“And what do you think we ought to do with Stane?” asked Steve after they’d eaten some sweets (if that was not the height of adorableness, seeing Bucky feed Tony bites of cake, he didn’t know what was).  “If he’s working with Hydra, who knows how many people would back him.”

“Not many from Wakanda or Asgard,” Bucky pointed out.  “Hydra has always been a part of Scyld. That I remember.”

Steve scowled.

“It’s nearly like our sacrifices were for nothing,” he said, resigned.  Tony shook his head. 

“I don’t think you understand how much even your _story_ impacts the world. Hydra had to go into hiding because of you; it was severely weakened.  You are the stories parents tell children.  You are the honor and courage knights try to emulate.  You are the center of every story I was told as a child—I was obsessed with the idea that I might be a third companion on your journeys,” he said wryly.  “It was the one thing my father enjoyed talking about with me.”

* * *

 

Natalia appeared disinterested when they returned, but Bucky knew the light dancing in her eyes.  He glared at her. 

“Have a fun time?” she asked.

“The three of us,” Steve said, “had a good conversation.  We discussed the information Buck was able to gather and a few options for the next step.”  She raised an eyebrow. 

“And?”

“We had a lovely lunch,” Tony piped in. 

“And?”   _And you are such a gossip._

“And you’re not going to let this go, so yes, we are courting one another,” he said quickly, “All three of us.  Please do not meddle in this.”

“I’d never dream of it,” she said, “This was my endgame, after all, for you three.  I didn’t even have to do anything.”

A clamor exploded from the great hall, where dignitaries had been negotiating all day.  The Queen’s Avengers and the high-ranked guards from both the other kingdoms leapt into action. 

Everyone was shouting. 

“That’s impossible—”

“A curse?  That long?”

“It’s no wonder they’d want Stark dead, though—”

“ENOUGH,” boomed Thor, glaring out at the bustling crowd.  Steve had had his shield at the ready, but it appeared that the attack had been verbal all along. 

“Please repeat yourself for the court,” said Queen Carol.  “Master Murdock, please have someone write this down for the records.  It appears we may soon have a trial or two to put down.”  The man nodded, grabbing his assistant, prepared to dictate what needed to be written specifically.  Obadiah cleared his throat. 

“We found Marquis Stark, dead.  Witnesses said that he had been captured by the Winter Sorcerer and the Iron Knight working together, apparently backed by Hydra and meaning to destroy all kingdoms.”  Bucky raised his eyebrows, glancing at Tony. 

“Have you received letters recently, Sir Iron?” accused Stane, “Or did you already have your final conversation?”  Steve blinked, looking between Bucky and Tony. 

“And what’s worse, here’s the Winter Sorcerer himself—the White Wolf!” cried Lord Pierce. 

More chaos, brought to order this time by Killmonger growling.  T’Challa patted his cousin’s shoulder and thanked him for keeping his familiar from going any farther than that. 

“You’ll have to keep the chatter down if we want to hear the whole story,” scowled Murdock.  “Do you have evidence, or just suspicions?  Others who found the body?”  And so Stane gestured to a few other earls and masters.  Lord Pierce and Master Rumlow were among them. 

“We were on our way to meet some messengers from Stark Estate delivering his golems, as requested by Rhodes,” said Rumlow.  “We heard shouting, and Stane recognized Stark’s voice.  We were unarmed, so we approached with caution.  Then we saw them—Sir Iron and Barnes, talking alone.  Barnes said that his mission was over, and Sir Iron was surely glad about it, because it meant he could keep what belonged to the man we thought he was protecting.”  Pierce nodded. 

“Barnes then removed his cloak, revealing a silver arm.  We were shocked, of course—the Winter Sorcerer, among us!—but managed to keep silent.  The two of them wrapped something in the cloak and hauled it together deeper into the woods.  We followed at a distance, and once we’d left, we found that what they’d hidden was Tony’s body, already cold in death!”  Bucky inhaled sharply.  Carol raised her eyebrows.  She nodded to Matthew, who told Karen to write everything down while he took over the proceedings.  He turned to face them, blind eyes staring forward, never focusing. 

“You stand accused before the court, James Barnes, Sir Iron.  What do you have to say?”

“I did meet Stark during his capture, but I helped him escape!  I didn’t kill him!” Bucky was clearly distressed, but he stood his ground. 

“But did you kill his parents?” asked Stane.  “After all, their death had been under strange circumstances.”

“. . . Not of my own choice,” Bucky growled.  “Hydra still had its hold over me then.  I’ve destroyed all of the relics and was healed in Wakanda.”  Steve could see the palpable rise in hackles from the Hydra members in the room—a Winter Sorcerer with no orders to follow?  That was their fate sealed. 

“Oh, for the love of—Stark’s not dead,” Tony said.  “He’s irritated, but overall plenty alive.”

“Irritated?” asked Murdock. Steve snorted, despite himself. 

“Furious, more like.” 

Everyone that didn’t know stared in intense confusion. 

“I’ll deal with the comments later, Sir Iron.  Barnes?”

“I may be the Winter Sorcerer, but I did not kill Stark,” Bucky said resolutely.  “I was cursed before, but after visiting Wakanda, I was freed of Hydra’s control.  I didn’t kill Stark; he’s not dead!”

“Then what do you make of his body, wearing his father’s crest, that I found in the woods?” asked Rumlow.  Again, everyone burst into shouts and gasps and gossip.  Queen Carol glanced between the visiting kings and sighed. 

“Nothing will get done in these immediate circumstances.  Everyone’s spirits are running a little too high, I imagine, and it is getting late.  We’ll examine these accusations and reconvene tomorrow at noon.  No one is to be about the castle without an escort in the meantime.  Captain Rogers, I imagine a legendary hero such as yourself can handle the accused— _enough_ , Lord Stane, that is my final word on the matter!”

* * *

 

“I’ve got to show up as myself,” Tony said, “They can’t accuse you of something you didn’t do.”

“Someone with enough nerve will attack, no matter the audience,” Steve frowned. 

“But if you come in fully armed, they may get hostile or suspect a glamor,” Bucky said. 

“So you teach me to summon it,” Tony immediately said.  “I’ll embed that into Jarvis so that he can do it if there’s danger I can’t see coming.  Bucky blinked. 

“Have you ever even cast a spell like that before, Stark?”

“I have a lot of golems that I personally created.  Some are decades old.  Jarvis is as intelligent as a human, and Friday and Jocasta are getting there.”

Bucky blinked. 

“You’ll probably be fine.  Let’s get to work.”

“Jarvis, are you willing to transfer consciousness to the armor temporarily?”  The golem blinked. 

“I’ll be glad to be of assistance, sir.”

* * *

 

Tony borrowed Bucky’s cloak, and they entered the court. 

“I think there’s a matter of mistaken identity,” Bucky explained.  “You’ve accused me of murdering Anthony Stark, but he’s very much alive.”

Obadiah sneered. 

“And how would you know?”

“Because I’ve been here this whole time, Obie, and I’ve found out that you’re not as concerned for my life as you’ve led people to believe.”  Tony dropped his hood and stalked to the center of the floor, where Obadiah stood. 

“You’ve accused James of my murder, yet here I stand.  What poor man must have died in my place?” he said with an air of calm. 

Steve glanced around.  Loki was grinning viciously—the snake must have loved the drama. 

“Tony!” Obadiah’s face was pure shock before it melted into a molded mask of concern. “How on _earth_ did you get here?  What happened?”

“At that weapons demonstration that you encouraged me to attend,” Tony began, “I was attacked, taken away to a cave.  I escaped the bandits that had been hired to kill me.  They thought they could squeeze a few more weapons from me first, you see.”  Everyone was in awe—Steve most of all.  Tony’s boldness was sharper than Bucky’s knives. 

“And I did help some people along the way—stopped in some villages, helped with medicine and tools.  I didn’t look very much like a noble.”  No, Steve grinned. 

“And Sir Iron?  You met him?” prompted Rhodey. 

“I made that armor,” Tony nodded.  Everyone, even Stane, seemed relieved—

“Who is the man under the helm?” asked a young lady.  Steve squinted—she was Baroness Maximoff.  Wanda.  She and her brother had helped overtake their father, and because of that, they were allowed to split the estate between themselves and both take his title. 

“Why would you make that armor, that weapon, Stark?” she prodded.  “Surely you could have given it to your trusted friend, Rhodes.  Or Lady Potts.  Another of your missteps, I suppose,” she said.  Bucky’s eyes were burning, but Steve gripped his wrist firmly.  Tony whirled to face her. 

“My lady,” he said, “I trust very, very few people.  Still, I’ve trusted the wrong ones before.  What do you accuse me of, now that my murder is off the table?”

“Nothing at all, except that your Jericho-cursed clubs were used against my village,” she said.  Tony paced, agitated, as she accused him. 

“I only ever made one of those, and I intended for them never to be used again.  The amount of bleeding that causes—”

“Yes, well, there was more than one involved in that particular massacre.  My father issued it, since no one would follow him in his coup.  It’s only thanks to the Queen’s Avengers that it was put to an end.  Now, Stark—where have you been, and why were your weapons being used against our people?”

Tony scowled. 

“Travelling and trying to find out who’d hired the bandits that had gotten me in the woods,” he said.  She snorted. 

“What, you fancy yourself a vengeful knight?  You’re the Merchant of Death, Stark, did you forget?”

Steve saw red and surged forward, but this time Bucky held him back. 

“No, it would be absurd to call me a hero,” Tony said distantly. 

“I never claimed that at all,” Wanda snorted.  “I made myself clear.  You’re a death-dealer, not anyone’s savior.  I’m accusing you, not lauding you.”

“Well, as it so happens, I have an accusation of my own to make.  You see, I found that someone was selling my weapons and designs to the wrong sort, someone paid that wrong sort to kidnap me.  Someone paid them to kill me.  Instead, they tortured me.  I was lucky to have a fellow prisoner for a time, though he died in the last fight before I got free.” 

There were confused frowns.  Another prisoner, besides Iron Man?

“And someone at court has been dealing with Hydra—also at court—in an attempt to get artifacts and spellwork belonging in the Stark household.  James Barnes was kind enough to do some spying for me.”

“And how would you have communicated with him?  You’ve not been in the castle for longer than your disappearance would allow,” said Pierce, narrowing his eyes. 

“I—”

A whistle of a thrown knife was the only warning he got, but Tony summoned the armor, which deflected the blade before it even reached its target.  The armor pieced itself together around him.  He caught his helmet as it flew towards him and tucked it under one arm. 

“If you haven’t guessed it by now, I can make it clearer.  I am the Iron Knight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve: Let’s wine and dine him  
> Tony: Ooh, sweet, food. If you two want a minute, I’ll be here with this sandwich  
> Bucky and Steve: Actually, we want a minute with you  
> Tony: A poor decision really  
> *They kiss him*  
> Tony:  
> Tony.exe has stopped working  
> .  
> Natasha, seeing them in lovey-dovey bliss: You’re all adorable babies  
> Bucky: shut up you meddling meddler and let us be  
> .  
> Stane: Iron Man and the Winter Soldier teamed up to kill Tony Stark  
> Tony: Excuse me a moment *screams into pillow* Right, so about that  
> .  
> *Tony dramatically schooling everyone*  
> Steve: I want to take your clothes off  
> Tony: *summons armor in true Iron Man fashion*  
> Steve: *swallows dryly, ogling him* . . . Close enough
> 
> *ALSO CHECK OUT CHAOSDRAWS' ART OF THE END OF THIS CHAPTER IT"S BEAUTIFUL WILL LINK ONCE POSTED*


	7. Those We Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiars  
> Only powerful sorcerers with certain inclinations can bond with familiars—particular animals with magical focus. Familiars can somewhat psychically bond with their sorcerers—general feelings, instincts, and strengths will transfer. It allows both the familiar and the sorcerer to perform feats that alone would be impossible. Occasionally, the familiar will gain human-like communication skills or intelligence, while the human can draw on the animal's strengths and abilities.  
> The Wakandan mythos says that particular familiars are associated with their gods – that the king always connects with a black panther. The White Wolf is known as a rare warrior and friend to the Black Panther.

Carol sighed. 

“Clearly there is no reason to be accusing anyone of killing Tony Stark.  But that is a huge accusation in turn, my knight,” she said. 

“It was Obadiah,” he growled before calming himself.  “The snake conspired with Hydra.”

“I have a list of every follower of Hydra in the kingdom, and some are here at court now,” said Bucky.  “They confessed directly to me, thinking I was on their side, and they implicated Stane in the process.  He’d called for the murder of Howard Stark, too.”

The queen hummed. 

“Stane?” she asked. 

“They’re all lying,” he said.  “Perhaps not meaning to—having the full information can—” Loki coughed and stood. 

“This is tiresome, your Highness.  He’s run out of options.  He’s clearly lying.  Why hold onto the farce?”

“Ah, Loki Liesmith,” she said.  “Able to spot when people imitate you poorly?  Well, perhaps you know a seer or two that could be of assistance?  I think they’d be able to judge this objectively—without vengeance, without trying to save the skin of their allies.” 

“Heimdall and our Regent Mother are both still in Asgard, I’m afraid,” Loki said.  Carol raised her eyebrows. 

“I know.”  The prince, clearly disgruntled, refused to continue. 

“I’ll call Master Strange,” Peter said.  Loki looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. 

“Surely I could—”

“You are talented, Prince Loki, but Strange is the best tool for this particular instance,” she said. 

Tony grinned.  She was absolutely stroking the snake’s ego, but it was working, and he stepped down. 

“Until then, I suggest everyone stay in their own quarters.  Barnes, I’ll need your list of Hydra members so that I can have guards at the ready before these trials truly begin.” 

Obadiah’s face was purpling as he was ushered away.  Bucky grinned, looking rather like his familiar on a hunt.  

Tony felt a tightness in his chest loosen, and he laughed. 

* * *

 

 “What in _hell_ were you thinking?” hissed Pepper.  Tony blinked. 

“Ah—what are you referring to in particular?”

“I’m talking about the suicide revenge mission, followed by _letting us all think you might be dead!_ ”

“Ah, well,” he backed up a few steps, hands up in surrender.  Stane hadn’t scared him.  A knife thrown to kill him hadn’t. 

Pepper was terrifying. 

“He was brilliant, my lady,” said Steve earnestly, “Figured out how to transfer Jarvis into the suit so that he could manipulate individual pieces.  He had to keep the ruse, I’m afraid, so that he could keep his attackers in the dark.  I’m sorry for the part I had to play in the deception, but it was all in the name of keeping him safe and finding his kidnappers,” he said solemnly.  Her temper cooled as she sighed. 

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.  But Tony,” she said, exasperated.  “You are _never_ doing that again.  Understand?  Never.”  He smiled a little. 

“Understood, Lady Potts.”

* * *

 

“Lord Stark!” Peter called, stopping them in the hall.  Tony turned around, smiling. 

“Hello, kid.  You’ve been doing well training with Steve.  Miss me?” But he didn’t get any response other than the kid bowling him over—armor and all.  The crash amused Bucky and Steve, but Tony was stunned all the same.  _He’s stronger than he ought to be._

“I thought you might be _dead,_ you’re Sir Iron, this is amazing, how did you forge this? The armor is so flexible with your movement, but you took down so many golems without denting it.  Did you use more enchantments or more specific kinds of metal?  Is that gold?  Those runes look really intricate—” he finally stopped to take a breath.  Tony chuckled. 

“I’ll tell you all about it, kid.” Peter chattered about how he was so glad he was back, he missed him. 

“How did you know about the golems?” Steve frowned after a few minutes.  Peter glanced around, looking uncomfortable. 

“Um—”                                                                                          

“Peter, did you sneak away from Banner to watch the fight?” Tony chided. 

“Yes!  That’s exactly what I did!” he blurted, sounding relieved.  Well, that was a lie upon another lie. 

“I’m going to pretend that I believe that for a moment.  It doesn’t explain your sudden bout of strength.” 

“Strength?” Bucky asked. 

“Do you think it’s easy to knock me over in this?”

Peter was looking more frantic with every comment. 

“Look, I’ve been training with Steve, you know that—”

“Fine, then, let’s spar,” suggested Bucky.  “See if Steve’s been teaching you right.  I taught him everything he knows, you see.” 

Tony did not like this idea, but it looked like Peter was too awestruck by “the Captain’s companion” offering to fight.  He marveled just as much about Bucky’s arm as about Tony’s armor, so he supposed there was no getting out of it.  

* * *

 

Bucky was very careful, not wanting to hurt Stark’s kid.  Actually, he seemed more Tony and Steve’s kid—smart, scrappy.  It was really cute. 

But he didn’t like the shifting weight in his feet when asked about his strength.  If there was a secret danger, he wanted to know if he could take him down—which was irrational, of course.  This was a kid.  But he’d already grown so close with Steve and Tony—he couldn’t bear it if this would be another betrayal. 

So they started with practice swords, and Bucky held back.  The kid was _fast_ , and Bucky definitely saw moves that Steve favored.  He held his own, so Bucky pushed more.  And more. 

The adrenaline of the fight was such that Bucky entirely forgot that it was a kid in front of him, one that ought to be inexperienced.  He dodged, swiped, used dirty tricks, bent in ways that were quite miraculous.  And then Bucky swung his left fist as hard as he could. 

Peter caught it.  Bucky froze. 

“What the hell?” he demanded.  Peter’s eyes widened. 

“Uh—I—don’t know?”

“I don’t think so.  Try again, kid.  What are you hiding?  I know you aren’t with them, but—” Bucky frowned.  “Well, you aren’t that I know of.”

“He’s a kid, James,” Tony shook his head.  “There’s just no way.  Peter wouldn’t.”

“That’s what the court said about my list, Tony.  ‘they wouldn’t.  I know them.’  Hell, that’s what Steve would say about me, even if the curse was still going.”

“I’ve known Peter since he was _born,_ James—”

“And that’s my point, you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement.”

“Excuse me, sir I-destroyed-Hydra-lairs-with-them-inside, I don’t think you have a leg to stand on.”

_“Tony,”_ Steve gasped.  They continued as if he’d said nothing. 

“This kid just caught a punch from me that required all of my strength.  _All of it._   While you were gone, anyone could have gotten into his head—”

“Other than Wade Wilson, I know the kid doesn’t hang around bad influences.  He has too big of a heart for that, James.”  Peter’s eyes widened as he put the pieces together. 

“I’m not Hydra!” Peter said.  “I’m the Spider!” 

Tony stared at him. 

“The what?”

Peter pouted, staring at his feet. 

“Do you remember some of the golems being shot with webs?  A different fighter dropping from the trees?  Wade babbling about how much he loves spiders?” Yes, vaguely, it seemed.  Steve’s eyes widened. 

“Was that something he was talking about when we first met?”  Peter grew even more sheepish. 

“Yes.  I, uh, ran into a spider Chitauri.  It bit me, but rather than kill me, it gave me some new abilities.  Believe me, I have even less of a clue than you as to how it works.  Wade taught me some basic fighting and helped me practice with the newer things.  He might be a mercenary, but he means well enough.” 

Bucky stared. 

“A Chitauri spider bit you?” asked Tony.

“Yes?”

“And, rather than go to the nearest physician immediately, you just stayed quiet about it?”  Oh, poor kid—Bucky marveled at how Tony’s tone changed.  Immediately, rather than being the harsh one he’d used in defending Peter, he became a scolding father.  It made Bucky’s ribcage light up with warmth. 

“Yes.”

“That’s it, you are getting _real_ training, not just squire stuff.  You’ll work with all of the Queen’s Avengers to get your fighting up to par, and you will _not_ go on a quest you aren’t assigned.  Or I tell May.  Understood?”  Peter looked up at them.  _Aw, now I just feel bad for accusing him of being Hydra._

“Sorry about the suspicion, Peter,” he mumbled. 

“It’s fine, sir Barnes, you were just looking out for the people you love.  Right?”

“Right.”  He felt Steve’s and Tony’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. 

Oh. 

* * *

 

Steve could not hide his blush except by facing away from Bucky, so he led the way to Tony’s chambers (which were the largest, and therefore the best to spend time together in).  Tony saw how red Steve was out of the corner of his eye and grinned. 

_The people you love._   Peter had said it for him, but Bucky had hardly denied it. 

“Stevie?” asked Bucky cautiously.  “Are you all right?”  Tony closed the door behind him. 

“Did you mean it, James?”

“Well, Peter said it for me, but he wasn’t wrong.  I love fast, Stevie knows it, but once I’m there—well, I still love his stubborn ass after all these years, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Tony.”

Stuck with him indeed. 

“I certainly don’t mind that, but you know already that I trust very, very few people.  It may be some time before I can return the sentiment.  I do care about the both of you very much.”

“Honestly, I just wish I’d had time to say it before the kid,” Steve continued, turning.  Bucky smirked at seeing his face. 

“Aw, Steve, no need to be embarrassed.  You know I love you and Tony.” Steve blinked. 

“That’s—the first time you’ve said it to me,” he said quietly.  “I’ve always known, but—”

Bucky interrupted him with a kiss before he could say something dumb and sappy.  Tony grinned at the fierceness of it. 

“Get over here, Tony,” Bucky growled, “You too.  You, too.”

* * *

 

Tony glared coolly at Stane and the various Hydra members behind him. 

“You’ve all been accused of treason and conspiracy to murder,” Murdock read from his notes.  “Our interrogating sorcerer should be arriving shortly.”  Even as he spoke, golden light opened a sparking hole in the air, and out stepped Stephen Strange. 

“Have you indeed captured a sect of Hydra in your court?” he asked, eyebrows raised.  Tony had only ever met the man in passing before. 

“Indeed.  Stane appears to have only been working with them through contract, but the rest of the accused are loyal to Hydra.  Would you mind—”

“Not at all.” He made a few complicated hand gestures before pressing two fingers to one accused guard’s temple. 

“Hm, that’s a vile mind.”  Again and again, each of the ones on Bucky’s list were confirmed as members of Hydra.  As he passed over them, they glowered. 

“Hail Hydra,” each of them muttered. 

Finally, Strange turned to Stane. 

“And you?” 

“Stark’s a fool for trying to keep peace,” he sneered.  Tony pursed his lips.  “He thinks we can protect people without destroying others.  War is nothing but a bargain of power and riches—and he was _squandering_ his wealth.  He could have become king, just as his father could have, but they were so much more interested in making weapons for others.  Well, I’ll tell you—Howard Stark was a dragon.” 

Gasps and whispers spread across the hall. 

“It wasn’t just a line of men with a tradition of naming their sons Howard—pah.  He fooled you all.  And now his weak-willed son shies away from war, doesn’t even reach for power!  The Ten Rings clan did you a favor by poisoning you, Stark.  That’s their favorite method—taking that dragon’s heart and making their victims die with each beat.  Remove it, and you die immediately.  Leave it, and you’ll march along to your death—”

“That’s quite enough truth from you,” Stephen said.  “I didn’t even have to do a spell for that.  If that will be all.”

“—if not from the heart, then from the Chitauri.  They’re converging for a reason.” Queen Carol stood suddenly. 

“The Chitauri.  What do you mean?”

He bared his teeth in a grin. 

“They’re after some fallen star.  Hydra had possession of it for some time, helped them strengthen their curses.  That’s what you were translating from the archives, right, Prince Loki?”

The prince stiffened. 

“You’re a worm, and I don’t appreciate you trying to undermine my guest,” said Carol.  “Treason is a crime worth execution, Stane.  Perhaps someone else will enjoy your title.”

The Hydra members and Stane were all led out of the room.  Thor turned to Loki and gestured for him to explain himself. 

“I was interested in the power of the Chitauri and had briefly considered using them to take over Asgard, then possibly Scyld.  But I realized as I studied them that they are searching for something—the same thing Hydra is searching for.  An artifact of intense power.  Some call it a fallen star.  I call it the Tesseract.  It’s rather similar magical energy to a dragon’s heart—though magnified.  Some think different dragons have kept it for themselves over the centuries.  I know the Jotunn had it for a great while.” 

“Brother, it wasn’t wise of you to withhold this, but do you know who holds it now?”

* * *

 

Loki explained his plan sheepishly, as though it was an embarrassment.  He’d meant to take control of the Chitauri by granting them what they sought: a powerful crystal, a nexus of magical energy.  He then was going to use the crystal himself, leading their armies on Asgard and Scyld, making the world his stage for power plays. 

It all seemed rather like a temper tantrum. 

Bucky frowned. 

“The crystal—it sounds like something the Red Skull had used to power his soldiers, remember, Steve?”

“You’re right.”

“So they’re searching for a dragon’s keep, since Red Skull was the last to have it,” Bucky said.  “And since dragons are scarce—”

“They search in remote places.  But they’re converging on higher population areas.  They must have a better idea,” General Okoye frowned. 

“If it were me, I’d chuck it into the ocean,” Clint said. 

“It was a dragon, though—and a Jotunn, at least, by record,” Fury glared at Loki.  “Was it you?” The prince spluttered. 

“I had it _centuries_ ago, for a few hours.”  Tony startled. 

“You’re a dragon?”

“He’s adopted,” Thor tried to explain.  Tony threw his hands in the air. 

“Great, great.  Mind letting us know _earlier_ next time something that relevant comes up?”

“It’s been quite a long time, remember.  But, thinking on it . . . they might have gathered my plans and used them for themselves, then, because they are converging exactly how I would have,” Loki grimaced. 

“What would you do next, then?” Carol asked. 

“Find somewhere public.  Somewhere everyone is centered around for one reason or another.”

“And erect an enormous monument on a mountain to yourself,” guessed Natasha. 

“Something shiny, visible, with your name . . . all over . . .” Tony trailed off and cursed.  Loki smirked and pointed. 

“Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, very excited to be helpful: I can get answers out of the accused!  
> Carol, well knowing that he means torture: Peter, go get Strange.
> 
> Bucky: Hey kid wanna spar?  
> Peter: Heck yeah! *Catches Bucky’s fist*  
> Bucky: what the fuck  
> Peter: Yeah I have these powers I’m that dude that helped the one time
> 
> Peter: *confesses for Bucky*  
> Bucky: Dammit kid *actually confesses*
> 
> Strange: I mean they’re all clearly guilty, so you wanna give it up or what?  
> Stane: *Monologues to the point of oversharing his plan*  
> Strange: That’s enough  
> Carol: No, please, continue  
> Stane: You are all going to die and here’s how  
> Loki: *sweats nervously* , , , Okay I fucked up


	8. Assembled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark Tower   
> Marquis Anthony Stark, shortly after his parents’ deaths, decided that creating fortresses would be a perfect way to defend the country his father had been so proud of. Exactly halfway between the old Stark Estate and the palace, the tower of stone and glass is a marvel in of itself. Practically a palace standing on a sheer mountain face, the tower remains mostly unoccupied, though it is furnished enough for a small army. It is mostly a storage space containing artifacts from Howard Stark’s archives.

 “Even in tracking movements of known sightings, you can see where all the Chitauri are headed.  They’re on a search, and they are closing in,” Fury scowled, gesturing at the map he’d marked up. 

“Is there any way to know where the Tesseract is now?” asked Peter. 

“I gave it to a red dragon that was adamant that it wouldn’t get into Red Skull’s hands,” Loki explained, “He traded for some interesting spells.  Like this one for generating new energy—”  Tony gaped. 

“You gave the Tesseract to my father.  Who likely stored it in his archives.  _Which are now housed at Stark Tower._ ”  Loki blinked. 

“This could prove problematic.  Magical energy like that could draw them in, plus with my strength as a dragon . . .” Loki explained.  Carol grumbled. 

“And with mine as well—”

“You’re a dragon?!” Steve asked. 

“That makes three of us, if I can ever figure out how that works,” Tony grumbled.  Carol smirked.

“Don’t worry, Tony, it’ll come to you when you need it.  We might as well prepare for a fight,” she said. 

“Even if my father didn’t keep the Tesseract, my tower is our best bet,” Tony said, “There’s archives I haven’t gone through at all.  Jarvis would be able to search them quickly to find out why the demons want the Tesseract, maybe even how to stop them.”

“Entirely?” Carol raised a brow.  “Are you sure?”

“No, but it’s a possibility.”

“In that case, I would like to join you in this endeavor,” Thor said.  “Loki _will_ be helping to atone for his errors, and some of my greatest battle companions couldn’t miss an opportunity for a quest.”  Carol hummed. 

“That will be appreciated, your highness.  King T’Challa?”

“My people have long hidden away from the threat of the Chitauri.  Perhaps it is time to join your kingdoms against them.”

“This is not what I had in mind when we said we’d open our borders,” Shuri muttered.  Okoye nodded in agreement. 

“Agreed.  But we must fight to defend our lands, as my King commands,” she said, smirking. 

“I appreciate it, truly,” Carol said.  “Captain Rogers.  I’m leaving it up to you who you’d like to bring along.  This may end in a fight.”  Steve nodded. 

“I think the Avengers are necessary for this, your majesty,” he said.  “And whoever else finds themselves able and available.”

“We’ll make preparations for tomorrow, then.  I’ll have Lady Potts, Lady Jane, and Mistress Hill take care of the castle once we ride.”

* * *

 

Bucky snorted, seeing the tower.  Tony rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t even, Barnes.”  He only continued to chuckle at the huge painted _STARK_ across the southern wall. 

“I’d ask if you were compensating, but I know better,” he said, grinning.  Red was a good look on Tony, even in his cheeks.  He pointedly looked away. 

“Are you all sure about this, your highnesses?” asked Strange.  “This could be a deadly venture.”

“I’ve made arrangements, Master Strange, should this go terribly wrong. This isn’t my first deadly venture.” assured Queen Carol, smirking amusedly.  Fury seemed to grumble in agreement. 

“If we can end the Chitauri attacks entirely,” Steve shook his head.  “They’ve ravaged the land since before our time.  Red Skull had tried to kill them himself.  It’s _insane_.”

“What about us screams safety and sanity, Steve?  May I remind you how you managed to take on no less than _six_ Chitauri demons at once without assistance, and broke your arm because of it?” Bucky jabbed. 

“I had Morita!”

“Morita was _unconscious._   Because of one of the six Chitauri that you were dumb enough not to run away from.”

Steve huffed.  Tony leaned over and kissed him.

“Strike two, Buck.  You’re sleeping in the forges if you keep this up.  Perhaps Butterfingers will keep you company?”

“Shaddup, you don’t mean that,” Bucky snapped. 

“Yes, unfortunately I am in need of _two_ legendary heroes to grace my bed every night.  We’ll have to suffer his presence, I’m afraid, Steve,” Tony drawled. 

“Suffering, sure,” Clint grumbled. 

* * *

 

They arrived at the Tower without much fanfare, bringing their horses to the stables and beginning the search for the Tesseract.  Loki immediately strode towards the Stark archives.  Tony raised a brow, following him. 

“You certainly know where you’re going.”

“You think I entirely abandoned the idea of using the Chitauri?” he snapped back.  “It was a thought—I could steal it from you and continue my plans if I had any hope of controlling them.”

“My trust of you is raising ever higher,” Tony deadpanned. 

“Can I shoot him?” Clint muttered. 

Much to all of their chagrin, Clint could not, in fact, shoot him.  They split up to search other potential places and for useful weapons.  The Wakandans stayed outside, forming a perimeter in case they attracted the wrong kind of attention. 

“You take care in there, Barnes,” Erik called.  Bucky grinned. 

“Don’t get stabbed again.  We’re a long way from Shuri’s physicians.”  Erik scoffed and followed the Dora guards as they spread out. 

“You all right, Tony?” asked Steve.  Tony grimaced. 

“More or less.  The—dragon’s heart is hotter than usual.”  And it was burning, itching.  Not to the point that Tony couldn’t breathe, luckily.  That had happened very rarely.  But going into a battle with it acting up wasn’t exactly ideal. 

He took a deep breath and made his way down to the archives. 

Stark Tower was equipped with a few complicated golems—Jocasta and Friday chief among them—who kept the place organized and maintained.  He asked each of them where the Tesseract might be kept, and both directed him to the central archives with vague directions. 

“Maybe if you’d set a proper system for organizing these things,” Friday began, “This would be less of a problem.”  He scowled. 

“We should have at least some time before—” The tower shook. 

“Not a lot of time,” he amended.  “Friday, assist Coulson in finding the Tesseract.  We’ll defend the tower.” 

* * *

 

It was madness—Chitauri of all sizes and shapes were swarming, coming from a large rift above the tower.  Clint was shooting them as they came, and Peter was picking up discarded arrows and bringing them back as he swung around the tower. 

Wakandans and Asgardians alike were plowing through whatever beasts came their way, but the numbers were only increasing. 

Bucky stole one of their swords and began to clear a path for Steve to throw his shield.  They fought back-to-back, and Tony was only a short distance away.  A shadow passed over them—

A leviathan. 

They’d spent half a second too long gaping, because a large, bear-like creature was leaping at them. 

“ _NO!_ ” Tony roared, eyes blazing. 

And an unbearable heat blasted the beast away, a blue flame in its wake.  Steve blinked and looked up. 

A scarlet dragon with a smattering of golden scales loomed above them, nose and mouth still flickering with light. 

“Tony!  By gods—thank you—” Steve spluttered.  Tony snorted and flapped his wings a few times, testing them. 

“This is my cue, I suppose!” called the queen from across the hill.  She erupted in intense light, becoming a golden dragon. The two of them soared upwards towards the leviathan. 

“Gods,” Bucky stared, continuing to bring down the grunt demons while constantly glancing up. 

“Agreed,” Steve twisted and threw his shield through two more, catching it again. 

* * *

 

It was Loki that complicated everything.  On one hand, a huge ice dragon joining the fray certainly finished off the leviathan and concentrated the attention of their forces. 

On the other, he stole the Tesseract away from Coulson and Friday, and was drawing more and more Chitauri from the portal, circling it as if to lure them out with its light. 

“LOKI!” Thor roared, volume rivalling the dragons.  The blue dragon with red eyes only paused a moment before continuing to fly towards the largest rift. 

“I could still shoot him,” Clint offered. 

“At this point?  Be my guest!” Bucky snarled.  He aimed a spell for the blue dragon. 

“Hell yeah,” the archer grinned, notching an arrow. 

Loki caught the arrow, but his wing caught the spell and he dropped the Tesseract, which Tony immediately snatched out of the air.  The leviathan turned, swooping lower to the ground.  Everyone sent spells and weapons into the air, but it appeared only the dragons were doing any damage. 

“I don’t know what possessed you to do that,” growled Carol, “But help us kill this thing, _then_ we’ll deal with your complex, Prince Loki!”

“I was _trying_ to help!” he snarled back, but did as she said and attacked the Leviathan.  They drove it at sharp turns, loosing flame and ice alike on it. 

“I’m bringing it down.  Bruce, are you ready?” Tony swooped low to say.  The physician was nowhere to be found. 

“Are you seriously going to kill a good man over some nonsense plan?!” asked Fury incredulously.  Even Bucky could see the smirk on Tony’s maw full of fangs. 

“I’ve always been impressed with how he could turn into a giant green rage monster,” he said, and another roar erupted—this time from the middle of their forces. 

“Meet the Hulk,” Natasha said.  “If Banner ever lets himself get too angry, well—the curse takes over.”

“ _SMASH!”_ the green beast bellowed.  Everyone seemed to pause in horrified fascination as Tony, Carol, and Loki lured the Leviathan directly for the Hulk. 

“Amazing, big Green!” applauded a voice Steve had hoped not to hear again. 

“Wade, you made it!” Peter cheered. 

“Well of course I did, Spiderling!  I couldn’t afford to stay away for any longer, or I would have been written out of the story entirely!” 

The Hulk gripped the muzzle of the leviathan and slammed it downwards onto another legion of grunts. 

“Great job, Hulk!” Steve said.  “Smash the rest of them!” The behemoth grinned and loped away to do just that. 

“This is insanity,” Bucky decided. 

“Not what you signed up for in that back alley in Brooklyn, hm?” Steve grinned, whirling to punch out another one. 

“Nah, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, dark smoke curling from his hands to strangle another monster.  In all the ways that mattered, it was their old rhythm—back to back, easy as breathing.  They’d been doing this for years.  And with Tony flying over their heads, it felt even better, all their sides covered. 

“What the _hell_ is Stark doing?” shouted Barton.  The largest rift, the one the leviathan had come through—where all of them were coming through, now—Tony was flying towards it with the crystal. 

“Is he looking to replace Loki?” asked Romanov.  Steve shook his head. 

“No, he probably has some fool plan to destroy it.”

He was right. 

* * *

 

Tony huffed, rushing towards the rift. 

“Jarvis, I hope you’re still in the armor, I don’t need you to see this,” he muttered.  It was bad enough he was still getting used to the whole thing—something instinctual had clearly taken over, but still he wondered about the details—

Well, he wouldn’t have time for that now. 

He burned the demons as they came—and they were definitely amassing another wave, if what he could see through the rift was any indication—but still he flew.  If he could generate a large enough blast and get the Tesseract to interact with the edge of the rift, he might be able to destroy it. 

He glanced downward.  The fighting continued, but it looked more or less like they were winning.  Exhausted, but winning.  Another wave would decimate them all. 

He was running out of time. 

“Jarvis, if you’re here, I need you to keep a message for everyone.  Rhodey gets the armor, okay?  I don’t trust anyone with that suit but him.  And maybe Pepper, but I think she’d be far too busy with my estate—I’m granting her full control.  The others know what I’d say to them.  And Steve and Bucky . . . I love them.  I love them so much.  Got that, Jarvis?” he said.  The rift burned like frostbite.  He hissed as he neared it, the strange energy crackling.  The Tesseract was buzzing in his claws. 

He’d seen the husks of those that attempted to touch the rifts.  As if they’d aged a thousand years in a flash, the rift would close and they would drop.  He couldn’t afford to throw the crystal—one of the demons could snatch it out of the air.  No, he had to connect the energy from the portal to the Tesseract and hope beyond hope that the two would burn each other out. 

Fuck, but he wished he had more time. 

Endless swarms of Chitauri, just beyond the veil, clamoring for an order to move forward.  Endless nighttime.  It was a yawning, gaping void, wherever they came from.  It was so cold, so endless, just beyond his goal—gods but he hoped he wouldn’t be sucked across.  Dying would be preferable. 

The Tesseract was hot in his palm against the cold, and he could see the tiniest of fractures.  Just—a little—farther—

And the void took him. 

* * *

 

“TONY!” Bucky screamed. Steve was petrified—his legs were stone as he continued slashing through the demons with his sword.  _Can’t think about it,_ he berated himself.  Guilt for not focusing on the battle warred with the agony of missing any last moment with Tony. 

_Not again,_ he despaired, body going through the motions as his mind spiraled back.  _Gods, not again._   It had hurt enough the first time. 

* * *

 

They hadn’t been perfect—no one had.  Back in the village it had been easier than breathing for Steve to love Bucky.  Breathing had caught up after he’d met Erksine. 

Steve kissed Bucky warmly.  His companion jolted up out of bed, their teeth clacking. 

“Ow—ugh, coulda warned me,” Bucky grumbled.  He chuckled hoarsely in reply. 

“Sorry, Buck.  Just got to get as many in as I can before winter, right?”

“You’re not going to die this winter, Steve, just like you didn’t last year.  I know it was tough, but you’re tougher.  I won’t let you die on me, Rogers.”  And Steve had lived through plenty more winters than any healer had predicted.  All the nearby physicians expected him not to last.  _He_ didn’t expect to last.  But there he was. 

And if he was going to last another year, he was damn well going to try and make sure others did, too.  That, of course, was what Bucky loved and hated—that Steve would put himself even _more_ in harm’s way if it meant good people could live a little happier and safer.

Which was why he was clearly torn between smiling fondly and groaning in exasperation as Steve had it in his mind to visit the hermit as soon as he’d found out Bucky had been contracted to defend the kingdom. 

“King Schmidt is corrupt, Buck.  He’s sending men to their deaths against other kingdoms for _no_ reason.  I won’t let you become another memorial to his madness,” he wheezed as Bucky tied the last of his supplies to his horse.   

“I’m not going to die to his crusade, Steve.  You know that.  I’m joining the outlaws in Rose Hill as soon as I get away from the commanders.”

“I don’t want you to die _against_ his crusade, either,” Steve said stubbornly.  “I’m going to find the old man and see if he’ll grant me something to help you—a disguise, anything.  If I weren’t so _scrawny_ ,” he sighed.  “I’d just sign up alongside you.  But they wouldn’t take me, I know that.  The Red Skull hardly wants a soldier like me,” he said stubbornly. 

“Take it as a compliment, Stevie,” Bucky grinned.  “You’re too good for him.”

“So’re you.”

* * *

 

Steve had gaped at the knight’s expertise as she dispatched the bandits with ease.  He’d stumbled into what felt like a staged fight, they were so good.  But they didn’t see one of the attackers coming—with all his weight he threw himself over them to knock them over. 

Swords clashed over his head, and he just scrunched his eyes closed as he was knocked aside.  The fighting was over quickly, by the sound of it—he looked up.  The knight helped him stand and took off their helmet. 

He stared, because it was a beautiful woman underneath. 

“That was quite brave of you,” she said primly.  “I don’t suppose you’re also looking for the sorcerer?”

“The—the old hermit?  Yes.  I want to see if there’s anything I can do to help my friend,” he said.  She smiled. 

“A good friend then.  I’m Peggy.”

“Steve.”

* * *

 

Erksine was a lone old man that didn’t speak much.  He ordered each instrument of his craft—cauldrons, herbs—all around a table and had Steve lay shirtless on it.  He laid a potion out and spread it across him before consulting a large tome that had been gifted to him by a dragon.  Peggy stood aside, brows furrowed in concern. 

And when he next stood, after all the screaming and spells, he had to blink, because everything was smaller.  And Erksine gave him a small metal star, telling him it would grant his friend with his magic and would become a great weapon should a dragon reforge it. 

* * *

 

The less said about his actor days as he travelled to find Bucky’s rebel forces, the better.  But as soon as he found him, he stormed the Hydra base, freeing the prisoners and leaving behind burning wreckage.  Bucky had been delirious, but he definitely noticed enough to comment that Steve was definitely a different size than before. 

And then the Howlers, refusing to back down despite their capture—they’d all been fantastic together, fierce and crazy and _family._   Stark had happily reforged his shield, and flirted hopelessly with the lot of them.  Bucky was enamored with the new powers he possessed.  But they were good enough to garner notice from Lord Zola, and that had been the tipping point.  They went to capture the curse-maker in his mountain manor.  Another winter, Steve had grinned at Bucky. 

“Don’t think you’ll need to worry about this one,” Bucky had said, kissing the corner of his mouth before they trudged up to the cliffs. 

And Bucky fell, beyond anywhere Steve could catch him.

* * *

 

And Tony was falling, dropping like a stone in his red armor. 

“Someone—” Steve choked.  But they were all too far, too slow—

Except for the Hulk, who intercepted Tony’s fall in a few bounds, bringing him back to where most of them were gathered.  He wasn’t moving, and his dragon heart was dimmer than it ought to have been. 

“Tony, darling,” Bucky surged forward.  Before they could touch him, the Hulk roared in Tony’s face and his whole body flinched.

“Agh—I—I’m alive?” he took off his helmet and blinked.  “Please tell me no one kissed me.  I’d want to remember that.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to oblige you,” Bucky said, “But I swear on all anyone considers sacred, Stark, if you pull something like that again, I’m pinning your wings to the ground, understand?” Tony smiled tiredly.  Steve laughed and cried and kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky: Look I’m just saying it’s kind of ridiculous  
> Tony: Oh, I’m sorry, compensating? Sounds like you’re not satisfied, guess I’ll have fun with Steve tonight—  
> Bucky: Babe no—  
> Loki: So I’m a dragon and that might be an issue  
> Carol: Me too  
> Tony, befuddled: Me . . . three?
> 
> Wade: *Gratuitous cameo*  
> Wade: I will fourth wall break in a goddamn fantasy, you think you can stop me?
> 
> *Bucky and Steve in peril*  
> Tony: Jarvis? Protective Dragon Mode Activate
> 
> Tony, doing something dumbass and self-sacrificing  
> Steve: *flashbacks to all the times he did that* I am so sorry Buck oh lord  
> Bucky: Now you know how it feels  
> Tony, very much alive after something that Definitely Should Have Killed Him: I deserve kisses just let me cuddle my boyfriends


	9. No Prince, All Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Fairy Tale: The First Captain, the Iron Knight, and the Winter Sorcerer  
> The story has been told. All that’s left, of course, is the happy end.

Everyone was too tired to pack up and move all the way back to the palace, so they trudged back to Stark Tower and ate in the foyer.  The Wakandans had all congregated in one area, though Princess Shuri was far more interested in chatting with Peter than with her brother or cousin. 

The Asgardians were making friends with everyone they could, not bothering to separate like the others.  Thor had sent Loki off to Valkyrie, apparently, who was more than happy to scold him for all he was worth for trying to take advantage of their allies.  As for Scyld—

Tony, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Natasha, and Bruce were all sitting on the floor, eating the meal that Friday had managed to find supplies for.  King Thor sat in the nearest chair, grinning quietly.  Bruce was sipping tea and mending wounds as he went, mostly rubbing salve into the multitude of burns on Tony’s left arm and back. 

“You all are crazy,” he said, leaning back on his hands.  “Insane.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said mildly, “I also do mad, deranged, heartless, and strangely unsettling.”

“Good to know,” Clint pointed at him, “But first—how good of a shot are you with a bow?  Because that spell at Loki was beautiful and I need to see how good your aim is versus mine.”  Bucky grinned, leaning on his wolf, who was looking at them all as if they were children. 

“I was the best shot of the kingdom, according to multiple sources.  Not all of my kills as the Winter Sorcerer were magic, you know.”  Clint turned to lay on his back, tilting his head to still face the rest of them. 

“As soon as I get about three days’ worth of sleep, you.  Me.  Archery range.”

“Looking forward to it.” Bucky’s grin matched Beck’s frightening snarls during the battle. 

Tony decided to lean his head back in Steve’s lap. 

“Is that a disaster waiting to happen, or am I the only one who thinks so?”

“As long as Wilson doesn’t get involved, I think it will be fine,” Steve sighed.  “But I’ll keep an eye out.” Bucky shook his head, laughing. 

“Hey!  Who was the one always pulling who out of the fire, huh, Steve?  Oh, I’m sorry, it was me, the only one of us with any sense of self-preservation.”  Tony raised a hand, about to counter, but seemed to think better of it.  Bucky smirked. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Queen Carol coughed. 

“I do believe it’s worth explaining myself now—I’m sorry for the deception, as far as my powers go, but it was necessary.”  Everyone turned to face her.  

“I do not want to renew the old treaties of Asgard, Wakanda, and Scyld.  I want _new_ ones, and I want to create not the Queen’s Avengers, but the Avengers—the protectors of all peoples, a crew of knights errant supported by all kingdoms.”

She turned to Fury, who cleared his throat. 

“There was an ancient idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people.  Dragons, sorcerers, warriors—it didn’t matter.  Howard Stark, Peggy Carter, they saw what Captain Rogers did, and saw what kind of things the world could become.  They wanted to see if people could become something more together, to fight the most impossible of battles.  I believe you’ll all agree with me when I say this battle was an impossible one a thousand times over.”

“I’ll toast to that!” roared King Thor, “The Avengers!” Everyone raised whatever food or drink they had on hand and cheered back. 

“The Avengers!”

* * *

 

Those that had duties in other places—primarily the Wakandans and the Asgardians—bid farewell and headed home.  T’Challa released Bucky from service as the White Wolf, and Thor had picked Bruce up and spun him around, delighting in the chance to get to know the healer _and_ fight with a worthy adversary. 

The rest of them were reluctant to get away from the tower, and Tony offered quarters for everyone to sleep the night in before they made plans to return. 

Clicking heels across the stone floor left them all turning slowly to one Pepper Potts.  She was clearly furious—no one ever saw her with a hair out of place, normally, but her eyes were wild with fury and her riding cloak was a rumpled mess over her gown. 

“Tony, I am going to kill you.  Jarvis sent a highly concerning message, so I had Strange send me over.  I don’t suppose you want to explain yourself?” Tony yelped. 

“Lady Potts,” he said, “I—uh—you see, I—”

“I thought you were dead _again,_ Anthony Stark, and you and I will have _words,_ ” she said with a frown.  “Putting me in charge of your estate entirely?  Naming _Peter_ , who is hardly old enough to hold a title, as your heir?  Are you mad, Tony?”

“Probably.  Arrogant about it, too—but I didn’t die, I’m right here, so it’s all fine,” he said.  Her glare promised retribution before she turned a pleasant smile on the others. 

“You’re all, of course, welcome at Stark Tower any time.”  

“Ah, yes,” Tony laughed nervously.  “I may have . . . invited everyone to stay.  I have some options regarding living quarters and was going to commission that as soon as possible.”

“Right,” sighed Pepper.  “Of course.  Anything else I ought to know about?”

“My lady, we’ll take care of him,” Steve said.  “Whatever your responsibilities are, tend to them—I understand the battle made life quite stressful.” Tony gaped as Pepper blushed and nodded. 

“Right, Captain, I appreciate that.” Bucky hummed. 

“Lady Potts, if you’re ever in need of some extra muscle to move things around, as I imagine Tony’s commissioned a lot of heavy furniture from merchants under your watchful eye, don’t hesitate to ask us for assistance.  We’re knights, after all—have to show  some level of respect for a lady,” he said.  Tony was aghast as Pepper’s ire melted.  She curtly nodded and headed to speak with the queen. 

“How?” he asked.  “How did you get her to stop being angry?”

“We’re just that charming,” Bucky smirked, kissing Tony’s cheek.  “I wonder if it’d work on you?”

“You know it has,” Tony grumbled, swatting him. 

* * *

 

 “The Avengers?  Never heard my old man talk about that one.  Frankly I didn’t find out he was a dragon until recently.  The old man is still years ahead of me.  Have you seen the _library_?  I was too drunk and angry to go through it all when I’d received it, but damn, the rituals and possibilities—”

“Which I’m sure you’ll improve a thousand-fold,” Steve grinned, amused. 

“Of course,” Tony scoffed.  “What do you take me for?”

.”My arm is making strange sounds.  I should probably ask Shuri about that,” Bucky said, and Tony dove across him. 

“No, you will not! _I_ will, so that if you do something dumb with it, _I_ can fix it and you don’t have to go all the way to Wakanda because your arm doesn’t work.  I am brilliant; I can figure out how this works.”  Bucky smiled indulgently before beckoning the Princess over. 

* * *

 

Steve grinned at the sight.  Bucky was lying on his stomach, reading one of the many tomes Howard had left behind.  Tony was going over the structure of the arm as Shuri had presented it, laying back with his head on Beck.  Other spell books and armor parts were strewn about, and Tony’s other golems—who he introduced one by one—each lolled about the forge.  Steve bit his lip as he sketched the scene.  The curve of Tony’s neck, Bucky’s wide blue eyes . . .

“What now?” Tony wondered aloud.  “Once everyone is done licking their wounds, I doubt there’ll be quite as big a threat as the Chitauri again.  After defeating a leviathan, not much can top that.”

“I think we protect people,” Bucky said, propping himself on his flesh arm while Tony carefully opened up the plates. 

“Stop moving—that’s lovely and all, but I was thinking more in terms of what _we_ were going to do.  This Avengers thing is nice, certainly, and I’d love to continue, but.”  He cut off whatever he was going to say. 

“So much has changed,” he said quietly.  “And I’d understand if—if—” he grumbled.  “Never mind.”

“No, not never mind,” Steve said.  “We want to know what you’re thinking, Tony.  Sometimes I’m worried I’m less interesting than what’s in your head, after seeing all the amazing things you can accomplish—” Tony huffed. 

“It’s great that you enjoy my company, but in the future?  Ten years later? Twenty?  This has been great romance and all so far, but you don’t know what I’m like, not really.”

“Excuse me?” Steve sat up straighter, eyes blazing. 

“Neither of you have had the displeasure of living life knowing about Marquis Stark,” he said darkly, “And it’s not recommended by most.  Comes with being an arrogant noble and the Merchant of Death, you see.”

“Well, I’m going to have to ignore others’ opinions, like usual,” Steve said.  “I don’t know about _Marquis_ Stark, but I’ve had the absolute pleasure of Sir Iron’s, _Tony_ Stark’s company, and I rather enjoy myself.  You’re a brave man, Tony.  Whoever convinced you that you’re not worthy—well, I guess I’ll be spending some time convincing you otherwise.”

“You seem to be under the impression that we’re perfect,” Bucky snorted.  “Steve’s a stubborn bastard with a hell of a lot of anger and not a lot of self-control.  I still wake from nightmares ready to fight.  I’m surly and friendly in turns, and you’ll never know which one I’m at.  I have to check the area for wards everywhere I go.  The question is, my lord, are you prepared to deal with _us?_ ”

Tony shook his head and said nothing, focusing on fixing Bucky’s arm.  Once he’d finished, however, there was no avoiding Bucky’s and Steve’s expectant stares. 

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“You and Stevie,” Bucky said, “Simple as that.”  Steve nodded in agreement. 

And, well. 

Tony never thought of himself as selfless enough to turn that down. 

“Come here,” Steve opened his arms.  “Both of you.”  And Bucky tugged Tony along, so there really was no chance of avoiding his embrace. 

“We’re all disasters, Tony; you don’t have the lion’s share of the problems.  We’ll take care of each other regardless.” 

* * *

 

“This is, without a doubt, the _strangest_ thing about it all,” Rhodey shook his head.  Tony grinned. 

“What?  The ancient heroes?  The impossible magic?”

“You having an even _bigger_ head than I thought you did, you scaly moron,” he deadpanned. He shook his head with a smile.  “No, I’m talking about the fact that you actually want to do this in secret.  What happened, Sir Iron?  Mellowing in your age?”

“I quite literally directly fought a leviathan not that long ago,” Tony sniffed.  “This is just . . . a different kind of feat.  It _has_ been some time, but I have plans.” 

“Making your intentions clear helps, I have heard.  Perhaps the deception is unnecessary?” asked Jarvis. 

“Quit mothering me,” Tony grumbled. 

“Forgive me if your penchant for going into battle without a weapon leads me to be cautious,” he replied.  Rhodey laughed, but Tony rolled his eyes. 

“I am a dragon.  My very breath is a weapon, J.”

“Are you sure about this?” asked Rhodey.  “You know they wouldn’t care if you came to them with nothing.”

“I think you’ll find that _I_ do,” Tony said.  He fumbled with the gifts he had ready, fretting.  “I can, so I should, in this case.”

* * *

 

“Dammit, kid,” Bucky griped, “You’re strong, but you can’t rely on that alone.” Peter was holding Bucky’s metal fist at bay—literally holding him at a distance.  He didn’t look sorry at all for the predicament he put his mentor in. 

“I’m also fast?” Steve laughed at Bucky’s resigned face. 

“Yes, but that’s not what I was getting at.  You’re smart.  Here, imagine you never got the bite—what would you do to get out of this hold?”  Peter stared. 

“I couldn’t.”

“You could,” Steve chuckled.  “Buck taught me how before Erksine.  If I could with bad lungs and no strength, you could have.”

“Mind if I borrow your teachers?” Tony called amusedly from the gate of the training yard. 

“Sure, Lord Stark,” Peter said, twisting and kicking Bucky off of him.  The sorcerer grunted. 

“What are you up to?” Steve asked.

“When am I ever up to anything?” Tony said.  “I’m the pinnacle of innocence and truth.”  Bucky snorted. 

“No, that’s Steve, and _he’s_ a crafty bastard, so try again.”  They were now in Tony’s personal quarters. 

“I—” he glanced at his table, where two packages were wrapped in red cloth. 

“Would you consider entering into official courtship with me?  I know it’s traditional to make jewelry when asking, but I figured this would suit you both far better,” he picked up each package and presented them.  Steve took his first.

Gleaming red, just like—

“Did you forge this?” Steve asked, marveling at the blade—it was weighted perfectly, and the pommel glinted red and silver.  A perfect match for his shield. 

“I researched how my father managed to do it,” Tony nodded, gesturing to Bucky’s gift—a set of knives that shined very much like Steve’s new sword. 

“This is beautiful, darling,” Bucky marveled, twisting one knife to admire it in the light. 

“The answer is yes, by the way,” Steve grinned.  “The future Lady Barnes and Marquess Rogers, at your service.”  Bucky squawked at the notion, shoving him.  Tony laughed. 

“I love you both so much,” he grinned.  “Best decision ever.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

 

Freaking _King Doom_ and his mercenaries.  Apparently, to him, the creation of the Avengers was seen as an act of war. 

“Come _on_ , Shellhead!” laughed Steve, “Take us flying sometime.” Tony blasted back the rogue soldiers. 

“We are in the middle of a fight,” grumbled Natasha, “And you still continue to flirt.” She leapt onto another’s shoulders, wrapping her legs around their neck tightly. 

“It’s not flirting; it’s strategy!” Steve called, ducking an arrow.  “Imagine having Clint, Peter, or Bucky on his back?  The long range attacks—”

“Where does that leave you, Captain?” scoffed Bucky.  “If you’re thinking of flinging yourself off of Tony’s back mid flight—”

“He’d catch me,” Steve grinned.  Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“I’m in love with a pair of morons,” he deadpanned. 

“I resent that,” Tony scoffed, “I’m a genius.”

“A moronic genius Marquis that thinks that he can survive anything because he’s a dragon,” Bucky shouted back. 

In reply, Tony leapt into the air, shifted, and swooped over the battlefield with a roar. 

“Dramatic ass,” Steve muttered. 

“Language!  There are ladies present!” Clint mocked.  Steve rolled his eyes. 

Tony then flew low behind Steve and Bucky, who had been fighting back to back.  He nudged his nose between their legs, sliding his head under them. 

“The _hell_ are you doing, Stark?” Bucky yelped.  He lifted his neck so the two of them slid onto his shoulders. 

“Steve’s got a point, Bucky,” he teased.  “It’s _strategy._ Might as well test it, hm?”

“I’m going to kill you,” the sorcerer growled, clinging to Steve as he shifted to face forward.  Tony beat his wings once, twice—

“We’re flying,” Steve breathed.  “Buck, look!”  Bucky’s gasp let Tony know that he’d opened his eyes.  Bucky inhaled slowly before muttering a spell.  It sent the small squad that was starting to overwhelm Clint all into the dirt. 

“My heroes!” shouted Clint, notching another arrow for the next onslaught. 

“ _Mine_ ,” Tony growled playfully, and Steve turned red as Tony’s scales. 

“Yours,” Bucky agreed.  That, he knew from the start, was true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint: Wanna be sniper bros?  
> Bucky: hell y e s  
> Steve and Tony: how about hell n o
> 
> Pepper: Tony I stg you die again I’m going to kill you  
> Tony: ?!?!?!
> 
> Tony: It doesn’t matter what universe I’m in; still don’t think I’m good enough for a stable relationship  
> Steve and Bucky: How dare you insult our boyfriend like that  
> Tony, choked up: M-marry me?
> 
> Steve: But what if we rode the dragon  
> Bucky, deadpan: What do you think we’re doing every night, Steve  
> Steve, smiling innocently: Catching up?  
> Tony: *forces himself under them to fly them around*   
> Steve: *swoons*  
> Bucky: oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck we’re really high up  
> Tony: *Protective dragon noises*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for The First Captain, the Iron Knight, and the Winter Sorcerer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742971) by [Neutralchaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos)




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